


Psalm 22

by Syntheticpalindromes



Category: IT (2019), IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: A big exploration of Eddie and Richie's issues, But he's /there/ you know, Found Family, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, Mentions of homophobia, Post-Canon Fix-It, Some slurs, Sorry Stan isn't...Around, here's this fic, i don't like that eddie's marriage to myra is a joke so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21732994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/pseuds/Syntheticpalindromes
Summary: The funny thing about trauma, especially with them all, was that everyone dealt with it differently.Eddie shied away, hid behind things he used as comfort blankets.Richie barrelled straight into it headfirst with jokes and bared teeth. He didn’t want to be afraid anymore, he absolutely fucking was, but he’d be fucking damned if he let anyone know that. There weren’t any more truth or dare games left for him to be afraid of, or clowns either for that matter. There were just twitter @’s and people not tuning into him anymore because he’d publicly come out as gay as soon as Eddie was settled on his bed and snoozing gently when they’d returned from Derry.~*~An exploration of Richie and Eddie's year after Derry (Derry 2.0if you ask Rich), and how sometimes you have to actually to work through and out the other side with your problems.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm ONLY posting this in chapters because I feel like it might give me an incentive to actually finish this fic because it's actually 26k on google docs right now and I literally know what I should be doing with it but also...........writing hard......brain not big enough to handle it sometimes. Oof. 
> 
> That's a big hint to please tell me how this sounds so far it costs £0 and 0p to comment, thank you kings.
> 
> Also I realised one part of this fic sounds like Richie's dick is one of them "cures all illnesses including mental" tropes, and I did not intend that at all. This whole fic is about process and helping yourself as well as others. Dick, however good and even if it's attached to Richard Tozier, does not solve all your problems.
> 
> Anyway, thanks xxxx

The easiest thing had been to become an ‘us’. It was almost as if it were second nature for Richie to clasp Eddie’s face in his blood stained hands after the house had collapsed and kiss him till they both couldn’t breathe. So much simpler than bottling it up for another couple of decades. It just sort of erupted out of both as them as soon as they realised that they were alive and fine. Well, alive _enough._

Of course, once they had both kissed and were pulled apart to gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes; Eddie had collapsed in the middle of the road in a heap of arms and legs and Bev had screamed so loud it had run right through Richie’s spine. 

For a moment, he really thought Eddie was going to die. 

He hadn’t remembered feeling as helpless and scared since Eddie broke his arm in that house twenty seven years prior.

The rush to the hospital was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time, the knowledge that Eddie wasn’t dead just yet. But with Eddie’s hand grasping his, Richie felt like he could start living his life properly. 

With the man he was supposed to have in it.

And really, he thought, if he could survive being caught in the Deadlights of an extraterrestrial-demon-god-motherfucker’s gaze, then surely being a functioning adult with a real relationship couldn’t be too hard?

He was almost thankful though. Thankful for that eon of time caught in those lights. He couldn’t quite remember what it was like in there, and at the time it had felt like he’d lived a lifetime inside of them, eyes blank and his brain screaming at him to _get out get out_. He wondered if that was what it had been like for Bev as well. It was like floating though, and he assumed that he had physically been floating above the air as he plummeted from them down onto his ass during the fight. 

But he was thankful for the things they’d shown him.

He knew that if he hadn’t wrenched Eddie to the side, just that few centimetres more, he might not be with him. 

The Clown’s talon like appendage had slashed Eddie pretty badly, the scar left was gnarly and Eddie couldn’t bear to look at it, Richie knew that. 

But the other option, the one he’d seen whilst he was stuck in that hot, white limbo of It’s sight, had been infinitely worse than the stitches and gauze that had to be plastered onto Eddie once they’d reached the hospital.

But it was done.

It was over.

It had always been a nightmare to them all. But it was finished now.

Getting Eddie back to his house to recover fully was like a dream though. 

To sit on the plane and say to the air stewardess, voice shaky from residual fear and something Richie would later realise was a funky thing called “internalised homophobia”, that yes, his _boyfriend_ was fine. Just a little sore and tired.

He was entirely in love. Just as he’d always been with Eddie.

Since the age of maybe around eleven to the age of forty, now, stuck in a metal tube hurtling through the sky to his home. Where Eddie would stay with him and god, he hoped he wasn’t dreaming all of this.

There was however a lot of unlearning to do on Eddie’s part. Because, and this part hurt Richie more than a lot of things had done, he didn’t know how to live with someone that didn’t control him. Didn’t manipulate the situation and make him feel small. Small and weak and helpless and-

It was just different. 

Even little things that Rich was only sort of aware of, even though he knew he was deeply fixated on being able to save Eddie so maybe he was aware of them, like food. Food and eating. It was like watching someone discover something entirely new when they’d go out for food sometimes, and it was a struggle at first, of course it was. Just to even get Eddie to use the knives and forks that were laid out. Richie had never seen it that bad as it was in the first few months after Neibolt. Like something had switched in Eddie’s mind and factory reset him into an even more neurotic mess than usual. 

But he loved him. He loved him so deeply and he just wanted for Eddie to live and be happy. 

He liked noodles. 

That was good. A start.

So they ate a shitload of Chinese takeout and ramen when they got back to Richie’s house in LA, Eddie going from hospital sickly to warm and soft whenever they’d lie next to each other in bed. Filling back out again to where Richie would think it was reasonable for a man in his forties to be. He’d run a hand down his chest and over his ribs, now less prominent and fuck Eddie for being in shape after almost dying and then spending ages stuffed up on Richie’s couch with UberEats available every day; getting almost chunky but not quite. 

Richie wouldn’t have minded him chunky. Honestly.

Something Richie wasn’t prepared for though was the way that, once he’d weaned Eddie off the idea that half the foods he thought would kill him weren’t going to, he ate like a starving man. Like a starving man who enjoyed groaning in happiness when food was put into his mouth. Richie had to shift in his seat quite a few times when they were out places because Eddie would make the same noises as when Richie was unhitching a particularly nasty knot in his back as he did when he ate a dish he really liked. 

Suddenly a whole new world of things opened up to him, and there wasn’t anyone to tell him it was going to make him sick, or choke or feasibly die...He could fucking eat like a regular human being. 

It was however pretty funny when they both realised Eddie was still kind of lactose intolerant but honestly Richie forking out for the nice oat milk Eddie liked in his morning coffee was something he was entirely happy to do if it meant Eddie wouldn’t have a hypo over a little tummy ache. 

It caught him off guard a few times though, how utterly trapped Eddie must have been in everything. From birth to marriage to almost death. Because sometimes they’d be apart, like most adults are in their lives, doing their jobs and attempting to get back to a sense of normality after killing a self-proclaimed eater of worlds and then stumbling into the most meaningful relationship either of them had ever been in. Sometimes while they were attempting this, Richie would call Eddie. Just to say “hi” and tell him he loved him and he was going to buy lasagne sheets so they could have pasta for dinner and Eddie’s voice would get...Funny.

He’d answer the phone all clipped and say, “Sorry I didn’t call. Sorry.” Or, “Hello sweetheart, are you alright?” And Richie would blink at his phone and then blink at the jar of sauce or whatever he was holding and go, 

“Dude, what’s poppin’?”

And Eddie would immediately snap out of it and say something like, 

“Shut up, you LA tool.” And everything would be absolutely fine again. 

It was like Eddie just couldn’t forget how to not be someone’s comfort blanket, emotional support dog and punching bag all at once. Like forty years of having to answer phones and apologise, begging the other person on the other side not to worry or be mad. Years of leaving houses only to be sharply called back to make sure they got an “I love you” and a kiss. 

Richie carded his hands through Eddie’s hair, 

“Do you ever think about your mom?”

Eddie scoffed, “I don’t want to hear a “your mom” joke while I watch Bake Off. British people are talking, it’s refined. Asshole.” 

“I mean it. I mean it Eddie, do you ever think about what she di-….Shit. Nothing, man.”

Richie remembered the way that night Eddie had turned almost 180 degrees around in his grasp and looked him deeply at him. Fawn eyes misty, like he was far away and Richie regretted it almost immediately. But he had to know, he had to know if Eddie knew that he was....Affected. The look had turned into Eddie bursting into tears and Richie for the life of him had no idea what to do, grasping at his shoulders and mumbling over and over that he was sorry. Sorry sorry. There were many things wrong with Eddie and he knew it, but God fucking forbid he ever wanted to make him think about them if he didn’t want to. 

Eddie had gotten off the couch and gone to bed without another word.

The next day he had gone to a pharmacy and gotten a new prescription for an inhaler. The eggshell blue of it poking ever so slightly out of Eddie’s black jeans, making Richie’s throat go numb and his eyes well up because he had done that. He was no better than Mrs Kaspbrak. No better than his ex-wife. 

And Richie hated her. 

Deeply.

Something that probably wouldn’t have shocked most of his audience, he knew what his old shit was like and it was now borderline unwatchable and definitely misogynistic (although potentially it would have shocked them it was because he was upset over his _boyfriend’s_ ex wife). Once he had revisited it after the trip back to Derry and all he could think was, “Shame on you, man. Shame on you.” Horrified that he ever used to talk about any of the shit he did. Gross out offensive comedy was so a decade ago and he could just imagine the disappointed look on Bev’s face. He didn’t want to joke about fucking his girlfriend’s friends or getting girls drunk or anything that made him seem like a grade-A fuck. Which, he was, just not in that way. 

But he did, he hated Myra’s guts and for a while he pretended he didn’t. So he could be...Rational and try to not just hate the woman because she was the love of his life’s ex. But he didn’t care anymore. If he could blame a bank robbery on her and have her locked up for the rest of her life, he happily would have done. 

He hated her for what he had to see every day that she’d done to Eddie. 

Making him into a ball of pent up rage, nasty thoughts and self loathing. Worried that if he didn’t text her at four o’clock sharp every afternoon, that she’d leave him. Forcing his hand and making him whenever things went wrong into reverting back into his old ways of relying on sugar pills and inhalers that wouldn’t do anything for him but were a crutch.

It sounded silly half the time he thought about it. 

Bev had once looked madder than Richie had ever seen her because he had said, 

“At least I guess she didn’t...Hit him, or whatever.”

And then had realised how stupid that was to say to a woman who... _Yeah_. 

“Just because she didn’t hit him, Rich, doesn’t mean she didn’t hurt him. You know better than any of us that she made his life hell. How much plastic cutlery did he go through in the first few months at your place?”

The argument that Richie had about how Eddie had said he didn’t like the dishwasher because it harboured germs and that LA tap water scared him and the kettle had too much limescale in it dying on his lips as Bev looked at him, eyes tilted up and so little makeup on that Richie had a strange memory of her telling him to watch out for Eddie when they were thirteen. _Watch out for him because he’s not delicate, or sickly or weak; but he’s afraid._

And we could all relate to that.

The odd thing was, Eddie had explained once as they lay in bed on a Saturday morning after Richie had made Eddie a tea and himself coffee, even though things were different and slowly, slowly he was regaining control of his life and his own experiences; it was still a massive struggle to even do things like let Richie put his mouth on his. 

“Is it because it’s...Dirty?” Richie had asked, hand that had been on Eddie’s behind raising slightly, afraid to touch just in case. 

“No. I don’t know. I know a lot of the shit they both convinced me was wrong with me wasn’t true. I’ve been to enough doctors and therapists to know that, yeah okay, I have fucking PTSD and a slightly weak heart. And man, my back is honestly giving out on me a little bit some days. My lungs keep making this weird rattling sounds too when I do this, listen when I do this. Lis-”

“ _Eddie_.”

Eddie stopped. Cleared his throat, glad that Richie had stopped him before he went on, “Uh. Thank you. Anyway. I know it’s not that. But it’s just...The anxiety. I know things are clean. I know I don’t need to worry about my own boyfriend touching me or kissing me. But it’s like this little voice in my head that says, “What if they were right, what if they were right about you.” Like...I’ve been conditioned my whole life to think I’ve got all these fucking things wrong with me and sometimes it’s just easier to play into the behaviours than actually change.” 

He sounded out of breath as he finished. Looking tired and young all at the same time as Richie kissed his chest, right above the scar where he’d almost not made it out of the hospital. 

“It...Takes time. I’m here for you.”

Eddie gulped, the sound loud in Richie’s ear pressed against his sternum, 

“I’m don’t fucking need fixing.” 

Richie touched his arm and slid his hand down until he could grasp Eddie’s hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and not even attempting to make a witty retort, just a simple, 

“I know. You jackass. I liked you when you were a child, I still like you now. Which says a lot because you were unbearable as a kid and I’m gonna be honest man, when you were going all whacko in the Jade and swearing at me like you wanted me dead just because I made one teeny tiny joke about your marriage; that was pretty fucking annoying too. But also, kinda hot. All I could think was, “Man, this hot headed shortstack is my kinda gal...I wonder what time he gets off.”” Eddie _thwapped_ the palm of his hand against Richie’s side at that, laughing so hard his eyes went all crinkled and sweet as Richie said one more time, just so Eddie knew, “All the same though, I’m here for you.” 

Richie assumed that Eddie hadn’t heard that a lot. He had probably heard a lot of pseudo-sympathy and cries of, “my poor baby!” But never a simple declaration that whatever was wrong. Whatever happened, someone was listening and was going to do their best to help out. 

And some days were worse than others. 

Some days Eddie threw up, shaking over the toilet because he hadn’t folded the bed linen down right and that simple thing alone made him think Richie was going to die. He didn’t know how to explain it. Richie didn’t either. He would be manic and would be on the verge of tears just because he’d forgotten to buy something from the store that Richie had asked him to. Which made Richie wonder how deep the hatred of Myra could go. Because that was a new one, not one of the leftovers from his mom. 

Richie once caught him tapping two fingers against the boiling hot towel rack at least a dozen times and when he asked Eddie why on earth he was doing it, Eddie had responded, 

“I don’t know.”

Unbeknownst to Richie that Eddie’s brain had been blaring at him that if he didn’t then Richie would leave him. It would be months later and a change of therapist that would supply to them that while there were many things Eddie didn’t have, OCD was actually one of them he did. Who would have guessed.

Sometimes it would culminate in Eddie taking heaving breaths in the middle of the room and squeezing his eyes closed, mumbling to himself. 

Richie didn’t say a word when Eddie once apologised, calling him “mommy”. 

But some days were fine. They were better.

And Eddie would eat food Richie had made without even having to stand behind him, wringing his hands and inhaling sharply when things touched or utensils were mixed between bowls and saucepans. He’d sit down after having a shower after a run, hair soft and smelling sweet like the raspberry shower gel he used. Hand not shaking a bit as he picked up the metal fork in front of him. The one from the drawer that had been in the drawer with the other forks. Eating and smiling at Richie, not asking what exact ingredients were in the meal and worrying if they were going to make his throat swell.

Because they weren’t. 

He was fine. 

Days when Richie would get rightfully mad at him for parking his car in front of his in the driveway when he _knew_ that he had an appointment with his manager early in the morning. Early for Richie of course being about ten o’clock but that was besides the point. 

But there were no wide eyed look of shame and timidness, no fumbling for little orange plastic tubs of pills to calm himself because things weren’t going right and voices were raised, just Eddie saying, 

“Shut up you baby, I’m coming. Jesus.” As he pulled his car out of the way and let Richie past in his, flipping him off as he drove away. 

For a while though, sex had been a slightly different matter. 

One night Eddie had told Richie about the fact him and Myra were trying for a baby a good couple years ago. Which had surprised Richie, the sight of his eyebrows shooting up his forehead making Eddie go red around the edges and he’d grit out, 

“I wanted kids. Don’t look at me like that, man. I really wanted them. I know you don’t believe me but I did like my wife at one point. I just didn’t-...I liked her.”

But the conversation had at least indicated something that Richie had wondered about; if Eddie had ever even had sex before. 

“We tried for two years. I think maybe the end of those two years were the last times we had sex honestly. She made me feel useless. Like I couldn’t do what in her eyes I was supposed to as her husband. We stopped having sex after that. I was too busy with work and she would just look at me like she fucking hated me...I think she would have really liked a kid.”

Richie held his tongue so he didn’t say something about how she probably just wanted another human to baby and worry over and frighten. 

Instead he had squeezed his fingers around Eddie’s hand tighter and kissed his forehead, 

“So Spaghetti, would you have wanted a strapping little boy or an equally strapping little girl?”

Distraction often was a good thing for Eddie.

He softened, 

“I’m not sure actually. I don’t think I would have minded...Maybe a little boy? Be funny to look down and see a tiny boy that looked like me. I could have made him just like me. But better.” 

Richie took his face in his hands, pressing up close till their noses touched, 

“You’re the best you I’ve ever met. I’ll find you a mini you one day to annoy the shit out of us both. Promise.”

Eddie had yawned a big jaw cracking yawn, rolling his eyes at Richie and kissing him softly, 

“Oh man. That’d be a trip. As long as it’s not a mini you I could probably handle it, there’s already enough You in this world right now. Night Rich.”

So Richie, for about a month or so, hadn’t really tried to initiate any kind of sex with Eddie. Mostly because he was still healing. His body and his everything else too. But also out of respect for the fact that it was going to be entirely new to him. He estimated that Eddie probably hadn’t had _sex_ for years and he definitely hadn’t had sex with a guy before. 

Something that maybe a few years ago would have had Richie going hot under the collar at the prospect of laying Eddie out and showing him what to do. Being the first person to fuck Eddie often felt like a prize when he’d first seen him back in Derry. He remembers being a hormonal teenager and seeing this twitchy, neurotic little guy every single day and after a while he had begun to think, Christ. _I’d love to be the first to push him down and touch him. See if his motor-mouth would stop running even faster than mine_.

But now, mostly it just made him nervous. 

What if he wanted to fuck in massive body sized condoms or he had some sort of medical thing where sterile objects and plastic gloves and lube were all that could be used in the bedroom. What if years and years of doctor visits warped his ideals and he wanted Richie to bend him over in a cold room with cold tiles and a little white piece of paper over a bed and stick his fingers in him.

What if he actually just never wanted to have sex.

Evidently, that hadn’t been the case, judging by how Eddie would go pliant under him when they kissed on the couch or in bed. Cheeks flushed red and it was funny, it seemed like a lot of the frown lines Eddie has accumulated over the years had started to ease out as they spent more time together, so he looked so much younger now. Looks of slight discomfort in the fact he’d been stabbed through the chest as he arched his back against Richie and gave him the sort of eyes he’d only seen in torrid, romantic films. 

Which Richie had been incredibly happy about even though he didn’t want to say that in front of Eddie because he was utterly terrified of moving things too fast and scaring him. 

Wanting to have sex and actually having sex were two different things though. 

Eddie would have rather died, Richie thought, than let anyone know that he was shy when it came to them having sex. Despite the fact they had both sat down once and looked each other in the eye, holding hands across the coffee table. Agreeing that they were so in love with each other that it made them both feel woozy. 

“I mean, who could blame you.” Richie had grinned.

But they were obviously comfortable with each other, they’d gone from just best friends to Richie bursting into the bathroom while Eddie was showering to pee in the morning and oh man, did Eddie ever fucking hate when he did that. Putting a hand over his eyes because there were no bathtubs with showers curtains, just a glass cubicle that was fancy and new. 

“Jesus, Rich. Couldn’t you hold it?”

“I’m forty, dude, that could like...Fuck my bladder for the rest of my pathetic life. Do you want that, Edward? Me to pee in a bag?”

Needless to say, most things were easy for them.

Eddie was bright pink by the time Richie took his clothes off though. Breathing heavily, not close to how he’d breathe when something was wrong, but enough that his chest was rising and falling sharply and the mottled white-pink skin of his scar was prominent against the reddening of his collar. 

Richie leaned down and nudged his mouth under Eddie’s jaw, giving him a sloppy kiss and feeling the skin prickle underneath his lips. Listening to the soft, wet hitch of Eddie’s breath and letting him stick his sharp little fingers into his hips as he pressed their bare hips together. Eddie wilting underneath him sweetly and when Richie kissed his mouth he felt him smile (sadly) into it, the angle of his thighs widening by themselves, 

“Um. Rich...I don’t know…”

Richie’s head shot up, mouth twisting into a look of what could only be described as terror, 

“Wha’?”

Eddie squirmed, leaning up on his elbows and looking down to the side of the bed where his own boxers were,

“What if it’s not...What if it’s not good?” The tips of his ears were red, “What if I can’t do it? M’sorry.”

He sounded like he did back at Neibolt. 

When Stan had almost got Richie.

They hadn’t done anything else that night, Richie kissing Eddie’s forehead and asking if he wanted to continue and Eddie had shrugged again. Looking like he was about to burst into tears at any given moment and really that wasn’t a particularly good indicator of how things were going. 

The funny thing about trauma, especially with them all, was that everyone dealt with it differently. 

Eddie shied away, hid behind things he used as comfort blankets.

Richie barrelled straight into it headfirst with jokes and bared teeth. He didn’t want to be afraid anymore, he absolutely fucking was, but he’d be fucking damned if he let anyone know that. There weren’t any more truth or dare games left for him to be afraid of, or clowns either for that matter. There were just twitter @’s and people not tuning into him anymore because he’d publicly come out as gay as soon as Eddie was settled on his bed and snoozing gently when they’d returned from Derry. 

His manager had flipped out, obviously. 

Only because he was worried, but it was kind of funny all the same. 

He knew he was only a pseudo-celeb, but the amount of hoo-ha that had been raised at a single tweet he’d sent out had been actually incredibly amusing to him. He’d gained a couple thousand more followers and probably lost just as many. But really, who in their right mind had been expecting Richie Tozier of all people to suddenly post on a Wednesday afternoon at 2:37pm:

@Richietrashmouth: just so you nosy bitches kno before its out there, im gay. im really gay. if i see any of you making fag jokes at me ill block your sorry asses, im the only one allowed to call me a fag & even then im on thin fucking ice!!!!

Of course it all made Richie feel like he was drowning, swallowing lungfuls of water as he tried to shout at people that there was nothing wrong with him he just liked men. 

One man in particular he really liked and it wasn’t going to change, no matter how many slurs the fuck idiots that used to really like his more offensive material would throw at him on the internet like the massive manchildren they were. 

Eddie shook and Richie snarled. 

Everyone was different. 

Richie had skyped Bill and Mike once, maybe around November time, whistling at how fancy their soft, autumn slipping-into-winter lit holiday home was, 

“Man, I should have picked Bill to crush on instead of this layabout.”

Eddie groaned somewhere behind him and raised a middle finger before falling back asleep. 

“How you two doing?” Mike asked gently, pushing the brim of his glasses up a little bit and sat back in the writing chair that Richie assumed was Bill’s. Bill in the process of wheeling over another little desk chair to perch himself on, Richie’s eyes going soft at the sight of them ever so casually pushing the sides of their hands together so they could entwine their little fingers. 

Something he knew all too well from sitting in the morning with Eddie and needing just the tiniest of affection. 

“We’re good, actually. He’s trying real hard. I mean, he’s trying even harder to cuss me out for not taking the fucking lint out of the dryer when I turn it on, but...He’s trying.” He bit at his bottom lip thoughtfully, wondering how much he should disclose to them, but these were his friends and they knew Eddie too. So he continued with, 

“We have our off days, the little fucker sometimes rearranges my entire house just because it makes him feel itchy. That pisses me off. I like to know where my shit is.” He blew out a laugh, like it didn’t piss him off as much as he said, “He just….He has a lot to deal with that I don’t think any of us really acknowledged....Sometimes I feel bad because with Bev it was just-” He paused and flapped a hand in the air, trying to think of the right way to phrase it, “It was just there. And,” His voice crackled, “Man, I think about all the jokes I used to make and wonder if I just made it worse?” He laughed again, wetter this time, “Who knew the devil was also known colloquially as Mrs Kaspbrak.” 

Bill, forever wanting to look after everyone, leaned closer to the webcam and Rich had to hold back another damp laugh because he looked so much like his dad, 

“You know they were j-j-just jokes. You shouldn’t b-beat yourself up for being a teenager, Rich. Eddie loves you more than anything. He l-luh...loves you more than he loves carrying around three tins of b-bandaids in his second fanny pack.”

“Wow, Bill, you should be a writer or something, man. You’re so articulate and poetic.”

Bill rolled his eyes fondly, 

“S-shut up.”

Richie debated for a few seconds if he should actually ask what he was intending to next, rolling it over in his head, trying to gauge how calm Bill and Mike seemed that day. In the end he just blurted out, 

“Is the sex hard for you guys too?”

He sort of wished he’d screenshotted how shocked Mike looked and also how red Bill did. Two grown men looking sheepish like they’d just been caught kissing behind bike sheds or stealing money from their moms’ purses. Bill was the first to pipe up, 

“R-R-Rih….Richie, man….Th-t-thuh-”

Mike stopped him with a gentle squeeze of his hand on top of Bill’s, the action drawing Richie’s eyes to where they were delicately touching. He knew the gesture well, it was the same one he did with Eddie whenever he’d start getting into a rut when he sneezed or coughed. An hour later on his Macbook, typing furiously as he tried to find out what sort of cancer he had or if any limbs were going to fall off. His voice trembling and stuttering, eerily similar to Bill’s. 

But Richie would reach out and take his hand, ground him in the reality of their living room and say, “Hey, dude, stop.” And he would.

“What he’s trying to say is that everything comes with it’s own challenges. We’re not you, Rich. We’re also not Eddie. Remember when we had lunch at Bev and Ben’s, and Bev had to go outside for five minutes because the pants Bill was wearing were the ones from her and her ex-husband’s old range?”

A brief glimpse of sadness passed over Bill’s face, Mike continued, 

“Everybody has shit that sets them off. Bill and I, we...We’re easy with that stuff. It’s not always going to be as simple as looking at other people and wondering why you don’t have what they have.”

Bill nodded,

“I w-wuh-wish I’d been as brave as you and him, Rich. I d-don’t want your fat head to get any bigger but...I might even say I was jealous of Richie Trashmouth of a-auh-all people, because you never had any doubt.”

Bill’s eyes fell on the desk that the laptop was obviously perched on, Mike’s gaze low too, but on the man next to him, 

“F-for you...It was always Eddie. Right?”

Richie echoed that, 

“Always Eddie. Always.”

Richie watched as Bill pressed a kiss to Mike’s temple, knowing that sometimes you did things like convince yourself you were in love with girls just because you didn’t want people to know what was really churning inside your stomach. 

He looked so happy now with Mike though. So easy. 

Richie had been the first person Bill had called when he had decided to leave his wife, he hadn’t known who else to go to with the information that he was maybe having a tiny bit of a sexual crisis and Rich had been the first person to pop into his mind because of course in a fit of panic in the hospital while waiting on Eddie’s results Richie had exclaimed to his friends, 

“So, I think this might be an ‘I just almost died and I’m freaking out’ thing but, you all know I am actually gay, right? I’m not just reading the room wrong? You all know that?”

Everyone had exchanged glances until Ben had said, 

“I mean...Rich….Duh?”

And Bev had elbowed him sharply, looking actually annoyed,

“Richie, we all love you, and we’re so glad you felt okay to say that to us. _Thank you for telling us_ , is what Ben means.”

He remembered how Bill had cried angry tears as he spoke to him about what was wrong. Tears of guilt because if anyone knew how to make themselves suffer for things that would never be their fault it was Bill Denbrough. Upset at himself for supposedly leading on his wife for all those years, never accepting that while he didn’t want to pinpoint anything properly, him and Rich were the same. Richie had clutched the phone in the cradle of his ear closer, trying to force some sort of feeling of his own special brand of comfort down the line to the distraught Bill, 

“Billy, please. You know I’m already in love with another, I physically cannot have you trying to ask for my hand in marriage just because I’m the only other gay you know, well, bar Eddie. But he’s not told me that yet so I’m not allowed to say shit about it. I have my suspicions though, like when he kisses me and calls me his ‘sexy daddy’.” Richie hoped Eddie didn’t hear that one where he was sat watching TV down the hall.

Which of course had Bill laughing wheezily down the phone and said,

“You got a fat head, Tozier.”

“Oh, baby. I know you’ve just accepted yourself as gay, but that’s very forward. I bet you’d love to know about my _fat head_.”

Richie knew he was a loud and foul mouthed fucker, and sometimes that worked to his advantage. He was a king in the art of distracting crying people by being nasty enough to make them stop crying and get to the crux of the matter.

“Have you spoken to anyone else properly? Except me?”

Richie could almost _hear_ the smile in Bill’s voice as he started rambling about how him and Mike had spoken almost every day since the whole...Derry 2.0 Incident (as Rich titled it whenever they spoke about it in the groupchat), which made his stomach kind of sick because _holy shit_ did he sound the same when he spoke about Eddie? Surely not. 

Richie could see it though, the Mikeys and gentle touches between the two of them when they were back home. The way that once it had been done in the sewers and It was dead, Bill had grabbed Mike and thrust their bodies together so they could press their foreheads to each other’s. Intimately affectionate and soft with each other in a way that ultimately mirrored the way he was with Eddie, especially when they were children. And boy, had that been something to behold at the time. Sitting in the Town House and being forced to remember the moments when they were thirteen and perhaps, they were both in love with each other, even then.

So, he did. He understood Bill entirely. 

What it was like to find yourself thrown into the realisation that you’d missed a lifetime of loving someone and now you were floundering, like a fish out of the sea, attempting to work out where to go from there.

“I guess you could always just tell him that you wanna fuck his brains out? Would that work?” Richie asked, entirely genuine.

Bill’s blush was almost audible, 

“I d-don’t know about that one, Rich. Not really my style.”

“Hm,” Rich twirled an invisible beard, “Maybe then just do what I did. Just tell him that you liked him, wait till he looks like he’s going to kill you because he thinks you’re just kidding around, and then kiss him.”

“Richie, that’s cute but, Mike is not Eddie.”

“Pft. Come on, men are all the same deep down. Buy him a beer when he visits next week, look into his eyes and...Tell him you’re getting divorced or something. Get him with those beautiful baby blues that probably made his belly fizzy when we were teenagers and horny as hell, and ask if he’d like to come home with you.”

Surprisingly, as Bill had texted Richie on the day that Mike had visited a wink emoji and a thumbs up along with a photo of them sat together in a bar, arms brushing and Bill’s cheeks pinker than ever; it had entirely fucking worked.

Richie was brought back to the Skype call as Mike cleared his throat, 

“So...Ben and Bev’s wedding, you definitely coming?”

Richie laughed brightly, glad for a change in pace, 

“And miss out on getting shitfaced and telling everyone that _this dude right here, is MY man_ about Eddie? Fuck no, man. Of course I’m coming. Got a whole year to plan the awful presents I’m going to buy them.”

The conversation had gone easily after that, Richie feeling a weird lump in his throat as he watched how Bill and Mike were together. Of course, he’d never known Bill’s wife, but he knew he would have loved her. Mike and him seemed different though. In tune, as if everything seemed like it flowed out of the two men in front of him so naturally. The way Mike often spoke for Bill, but not over him. The way Bill appeared to slot himself into the curve of Mike’s arm, smaller than even Eddie but so in charge of the love he wanted to get from his partner. Not demanding but asking him, _after all these years, I’d really like to be held by you_. 

Richie could understand that.

Maybe it was a case of simply asking for what he wanted. 

As he shut his laptop, he really wanted a dog, actually. 

There would probably be no babies in the foreseeable future for the two of them but, pets? He was about 99% sure that Eddie would be able to handle a pet. It felt like a natural progression for any couple. First you kiss, then you discover disgusting habits, then you get a pet. Of course, they had the additions of reliving childhood and personal trauma and almost dying together in the span of a couple of days, stretching into weeks and months but; who was to say they’d ever do this whole dating thing the right way.

It was 2016, come on.

Eddie, being a drama queen, had sighed and said, 

“Well, I want a fucking cat, so how are we going to do this?”

So, they got both. Quickly. Before Eddie could have a meltdown over potentially remembering he had allergies to dander (which he didn’t). 

A black domestic shorthair and a French Bulldog, which Eddie had taken one look at and gone, 

“For someone who got called a faggot a lot in high school, you sure did pick the gayest fucking dog you could have.”

“Hey. Leave my gay dog alone. Maybe I want to invest in the culture.”

“I wish you’d invest in the Queer Eye part and take a fucking shower and wear a new kind of shirt, dude.”

All together, all four of them, they’d spent Christmas 2016. Monstertruck (or simply Truck) the dog, Richie, Eddie and Winifred the cat. It had been the most pleasant Christmas Richie had ever had, mostly because he was Jewish and hadn’t really participated in Christmas much as a child. Eddie had very sweetly asked if he wanted to do anything for Hanukkah, but Richie hadn’t been too bothered about it. 

“I hadn’t been to a synagogue in...Fuck, however many years. The last time I went was in Derry.” Which had sent Eddie’s face into a wide array of emotions, mostly fear, “I just wanted to be close to him. To Stan. Not to anything else. We’ll do Christmas and just...Light a Menorah.”

Eddie nodded, 

“For him?”

“Yeah, for Stan.”

And they had done, both of them casting glances at it all throughout the evening as they opened presents with each other, Eddie kissing Richie breathless when he opened the heaping stack of old comic books he’d managed to acquire for him. Throwing his arms around his neck and wriggling into his lap, 

“Where did you even _find_ some of these?”

Richie grinned, glasses askew, 

“We live in LA, it’s not that hard if you know where to go, dumbass.”

Eddie went pink, 

“Like it when you say ‘we’.” Kissing Richie again, tasting like port and three bird roast. Clementines and also just hot and wet, “I never say it because then I’d have to beat your ego down with a baseball bat but ...You're good to me, Rich. You’re real good. I don’t…”

Eddie’s eyes were glassy, probably from too much alcohol and maybe too much love as well,

“I don’t know if sometimes I deserve it. I’m so difficult and-”

“Don’t you think if you were so difficult I would have given you up when we were kids?”

Eddie shrugged, 

“We’re not kids anymore, we’re adults. And what grown man cries because of bacteria and can’t even...Can’t even tackle the root of the problem?”

Richie wasn’t mad, his hands caught in the soft, downy fabric of the jumper that Eddie was wearing. Emblazoned with, “Sleigh my name, Sleigh my name”, which had made Richie absolutely guffaw and lose his mind when he’d seen it in Forever 21; because of course teenage girl clothing would fit Eddie. Not that Eddie had known, he’d pulled the tag off of it before he’d given it to Eddie at the beginning of the month.

“If you don’t stop talking like a fucking moron, Eds… Look at me,”

Eddie’s eyeline darted from dog, to cat, to Richie,

“I love you. I am in love with you. And I’m gay. Do you know how long it hurt to say that? When we went back to Derry, some guy had died because he was gay. Everyday people get hurt and die because they’re gay. I locked that shit so tight up inside me that when Mike called me I lost my lunch because I knew I’d have to go back to a place that had hurt me so deeply just because I liked men. I mean the clown didn’t help but,” He spared Eddie a little grin, the other man weakly smiling back, “I grew up hating myself for something I should have been totally cool with.” 

He stopped, voice rattling around in his throat because it was Christmas and he shouldn’t be baring himself like this but it was for Eddie, for his peace of mind. 

“Every single one of us Losers has something to contend with. But we don’t fucking stop, we didn’t stop when we were thirteen and we absolutely didn’t this time. We all have our own crosses to bear, I had to do a show in Glasgow once and I could not fucking understand a word those motherfuckers were saying.”

Eddie’s laugh was bright and sudden, 

“You see? It’s not all bad. We live through these things. When you got here you could barely touch anything and you were popping pills at any given instance… We lived, okay? We keep working through this shit, together. We all got this far, and I’m going to kick your ass harder than I kicked Pennywise’s when I was a prepubescent, sweaty, child if you give up. I love you, and that means I don’t fucking care if you want to scrub down my house or physically can’t do things because they scare you. You suffered a lot as a kid, so much that none of us noticed. But I notice now.”

His mouth felt dry as he stopped talking for a brief rest, he didn’t do this motivational speech shit much. He wasn’t Bill. He wasn’t a born leader and he barely exposed himself much at all, but Eddie made him brave. He always had done.

“Eddie, I noticed you when you’d climb into the hammock with me even when you didn’t need to. And I absolutely notice and see you now, still.”

The kiss that Eddie gave Richie after that had barrelled him over, back smacking into the hardwood floor beneath him and at his soft little, “oof”, Eddie had apologised against his mouth fervently. Kissing him over and over and over. Deft little fingers tangling their way into Richie’s curls, pulling at them and it made Richie hot all over. Eddie’s heft against his middle, pressed all the way down wherever they could and of course they made out all the time, they had to make up for the fact they never had when they were horny little runts as kids. But this time it was so close, his eyes shutting instinctually as he dragged Eddie into him. 

“I love you.” Eddie breathed against his mouth, lips raw and trembling.

“I love you too.”

“I really want you to fuck me right now.”

“Ah.” Was all Richie said. 

This time, there were no qualms from Eddie. No stuttering pauses as they both looked at each other and had no idea what to do or whether to continue. No winces as wet saliva dried on Eddie’s skin. 

The animals snoozing on the couch as Richie heaved Eddie up, careful not to aggravate anything from the last battle, his own back had never quite been the same since he’d fallen from the snare of the deadlights onto the hard stone floor. But he practically picked Eddie up and tugged him into their bedroom. Whispering against his mouth as they kissed their way onto the bed, not stopping till they were both bereft of clothing, 

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do?” 

“No. No, I don’t think so. I trust you.” Eddie’s hair was fluffier than usual against the pillow beneath his head, eyes glassy once more but this time it didn’t worry Richie, it made his gut ache and he pressed a hand against the inside of Eddie’s thigh. Sliding it up and opening them ever so slightly more, just so he could situate himself better within them. He always was wider than Eddie, even still. 

Eddie had come first, which hadn’t surprised Richie in the slightest. Throwing his head back and gasping as Richie touched him, clamping his hands onto Richie’s shoulders and squeezing so hard that Richie could feel how much this meant to him as he spilled onto Richie’s fingers and his own belly.

“Oh. Fuck.” Laughing slightly as he trembled a little against the sheets, eyes shut and breathing deep, “Man, I haven’t cum that hard since-...Well, fuck knows actually.” He laughed again at himself. 

Richie, attempting to as casually as he could, wiping his wet hand against the sheets muttering, “I know I’m a comedian Eds but, it might hurt my ego if you keep laughing when we fuck.”

Eddie’s face fell, going pale, 

“Oh. Ah. I’m sorry, Rich. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Richie stopped him, 

“Eddie, it’s alright. I was kidding. Please, keep laughing if you want to. That shit is adorable.” 

Richie managing to halt him before he could spiral into a post-Myra worry of if he had upset feelings that were only upset to _upset him_. To make him feel guilty. But Richie wasn’t Myra, and for the first time in a while Eddie truly believed that. Grimacing as he looked down at his belly, 

“I forgot how,” He didn’t say ‘gross’, he stopped himself, “ _Much_ this is.” 

Richie kissed him, kind of enjoying the fact Eddie was a bit sweaty and bare beneath him, even though he was holding back on letting himself go and just shoving his hips up against Eddie until he too was coming onto Eddie’s tummy. Something that the mere thought of genuinely had him close to coming anyway. But he just kissed him again, hovering over his body and giving him a look as if to say, 

_Hey, what do you want me to do?_

Eddie rolled his eyes, 

“Are you going to cum tonight or….?”

Richie spluttered, 

“Uh, I…”

Eddie stretched against the sheets and pillows, eyelids heavy and it made Richie feel like a virgin again. Like he was seeing this for the first time which, he supposed, he was. He’d always dreamed as a desperately horny teenager that maybe one day Eddie would sleep over and in the middle of the night would say, “Rich, let’s fool around.” Or something to that extent. He could remember being eighteen and Eddie had never quite grown out of wearing those stupid little shorts, the colours and sizes had changed, but not the length. As soon as he realised he preferred looking at Eddie’s ass over girls’ chests he had been fantasizing about pulling them down.

Eddie’s hand was on his shoulder as he was lost in thought, bringing him back to the fact that Eddie was here and, god, part of Richie wished either of them owned a pair of shorts short enough that he could live out his teenage wet dream fantasy of sliding down those shorts. Pulling them down over Eddie’s milky little thighs. 

Richie had never really cared what he was in the bedroom since he had actually realised it wasn’t going to be women he really wanted to get in there. Because he of course knew the semantics of sleeping with men, for the most part there was a dichotomy between tops and bottoms, _yadda yadda yadda_. 

He didn’t really care until he remembered Eddie. Remembered that first ever crush he’d had. 

And when he had, suddenly twenty seven years worth of wanting to fuck someone all came back. 

He giggled, the sound making Eddie giggle back, copying him, 

“What’s so funny now, Rich?”

Richie shook his head, 

“Just thinking about how jealous teenage Rich would be. You know I was fascinated with your ass back then? I think you wore those shorts just to get my little panties in a bunch.”

Eddie’s eyes went dark,

“Maybe I did.”

Richie groaned and butted his head softly into the curve of Eddie’s shoulder, 

“Stop. I’ll shoot all over your stomach. Shut up.”

“Well stop thinking about shit that has happened and start thinking about the fact that I want you to put your dick in me, dickwad.”

Richie had never scrambled to find a condom as quickly as he had on that Christmas night. 

Rifling through drawers and cabinets in the bathroom, swearing to himself and knocking over bits and pieces in front of him. Finally finding some and wondering if his legs had ever taken him anywhere as fast as they had taken him back to their bedroom, shuffling on his knees back onto the bed and fumbling with lube; managing to get half of it on the sheets. 

“It’s fine, I’ll do laundry tomorrow.” Eddie murmured.

Richie groaned, 

“Oh babe, I love it when you talk clean to me.”

Eddie snorted and smacked at his arm, unbridled happiness evident on his face until that was replaced with whatever emotion was tied to Richie pressing fingers into him. Richie understood though, it was always kind of weird to begin with, so he brushed his mouth against Eddie’s and murmured some sort of encouragement. 

“Beep fucking beep, Rich. I haven’t fucked anyone in years, that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to get myself off. I’m fine. I’ve had fingers in my ass before, do another one.”

Which had Richie’s dick twitching and his brain going a bit fuzzy. 

He hadn’t really thought about... _That_. 

After that point it was almost too easy, once again they fell into the comfortable back and forth that it seemed like their bodies knew all too easily how to fall into. Like dancing. The way Richie’s hips followed up Eddie’s when he pressed inside and started fucking him in earnest. Eddie looking more blissful, and weirdly peaceful, than Richie had seen him look in a good while. All the lines on his face smoothed out as he grasped at the bed sheets and clenched his fists like he wasn’t too sure what he was supposed to be doing. Out of practise in that way. Thighs tight around Richie’s waist as he tried his hardest to be kind and gentle. Treating Eddie the way he would have treated him if he really had been a virgin. 

Which of course, Eddie hated. 

Arching his back, the tight tendons of his neck exposed and Richie sucked a scarlet blooming mark into them, Eddie’s freckled shoulders earning a few bites as he finished it. The feeling of Eddie trembling underneath him, tight and grasping, almost making his vision go off kilter. Like he was on a helter skelter, going far too fast. Or when a plane swoops up off tarmac. Body leaving his brain behind him. 

He would have liked to have Eddie hard again, but they weren’t teenagers.

Eddie, however, appeared to have devised a plan to fix that by moaning at Richie in the most mind numbingly sexy voice (well, in the way that Richie was now incentivized to be turned on by the sound of Eddie being a bit of a bitch), 

“If you don’t stop treating me like I’m gonna snap in half and fuck me like you mean it I’m going to kick your ass, Tozier.”

It wasn’t a time for one of The Voices, but Richie couldn’t help it, out came the Irish Policeman;

“Oh, for sure, me sweet angel.”

Eddie’s startled cackle was amazing. Or so Richie thought. 

He didn’t do much thinking past that point really. 

Grabbing hold of one of Eddie’s hands and not letting go until he too was coming, his brain vaguely reminding him as he did that it was _inside Eddie_. He had come _into Eddie_. Not that he could really forget that it was Eddie under him, he’d sworn up as a storm as he’d been fucked, cussing and rolling his hips down. Moaning similar to the way he did when Richie would massage his back some nights, but more. Deeper and dirtier and Richie had found himself actively trying to quieten himself so he could listen to Eddie. Back of his neck prickling every time he made a sound.

When he finally rolled off and to the side, pulling off the condom and drawing up the energy to get off the bed and actually put it in the trash. Knowing Eddie would be mad if he didn’t. When he returned to the bed, Eddie was hard again, making Richie chuckle and coo at him, 

“Well. Look at that.”

He had never been more happy to suck someone off as he had been that night. Eddie’s thighs around his ears and his hands pulling his hair at the root, which Richie had absolutely no problems with, he’d much rather he tangibly knew that Eddie was enjoying himself and not having a mini meltdown over the germs in saliva.

Afterwards, they lay next to each other on the bed, hands touching, 

“Would you be offended if I went and showered?” Eddie asked, voice quiet.

“No. Of course not. Let me jump in with you real quick, then I’m going to make some tea and then we can watch It’s A Wonderful Life, ‘kay?”

Eddie giving him a final kiss before wandering off to the bathroom, Richie gazing at his soft behind the entire time it was in eyesight until he had to get up himself at the sound of the shower turning on, water pattering against the tiles. The two of them kissing another two or eight more times under the spray, Richie doing a perfunctory wash and Eddie going through the motions of his usual routine. Which included a lot more scrubbing. 

Richie left the cubicle when he was finished, kissing Eddie’s knuckles and knowing that he’d probably be another fifteen minutes or so; and that was fine. 

Filling the kettle he’d been given as a gift when he’d toured the UK, being told by the manager of one of the theatres he’d played, “This is a sacred vessel. Keep it safe.” 

Richie didn’t know Russell Hobbs was the name of a deity, but he’d believe it.

Flipping the little on switch and meeting eyes with the dog who was gazing at him in the stupidly content dog way they always do,

“I know, buddy. Happy Christmas. Daddy just got some.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie Tozier is the best mother to live. Challenge me on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lied it wont be two chapters i need to sort the chapters out more im a fool. 
> 
> anyway, please comment if u can i know sometimes you cba but i need motivation lads x

Things became slightly better after that. Like a hurdle had been overcome and jumped by Eddie, his whole demeanour more open and calm during the holiday season after they’d had that first time together. Which Richie had joked about endlessly because who knew his dick was a mood stabiliser? Something he’d put into the Losers’ group chat as soon as he’d garnered from Eddie that he too, found it kind of funny as well and it wasn’t in too bad taste.

Bill had launched about ten crying laughing emojis back at him, Bev had told him that it was funny because Ben was exactly the same and Mike had just gone, “Glad you had a nice Christmas you demons.”

In the following weeks though, Eddie had come leaps and bounds, the process making Richie’s heart endlessly strong. He hadn’t seen any glimpse of an inhaler in ages and he could barely remember the last time Eddie had popped a cap on a bottle of pills and taken them with water and a shaky hand. It was like he was a new person. Well, he was still Eddie and he was an anxious little bastard with a foul mouth and a tendency to drive badly. But he was now shying away from the behaviours that had held him captive for half a lifetime almost. Like he was trying his hardest, not just for Richie but for himself too. 

They’d, of course, taken a trip to a clinic and gotten themselves tested. Something that Eddie had found almost romantic and, well, Richie couldn’t really fault him for his enthusiasm to wanting a clean bill of health.

He didn’t bring up the fact that he was sort of ecstatic that afterwards when the results were back and they were all clean (because actually, why wouldn’t they be?), Eddie had given him a sultry look and murmured something about letting Richie come inside him if he wanted that had made Richie’s eyes go bleary for a moment. 

Eddie was a lot better though. 

Not that how he was before was _wrong_ or _bad_. He was just more functional.

He’d go for runs in the morning with Truck, or to the gym and he’d wipe a hand across his forehead wet with sweat. No grimacing or wincing, or immediately reaching for an anti-bac wipe. Often he’d wipe the sweat directly back onto Richie’s shirt like he wouldn’t notice. A cheeky, boyish smile spread across his lips making Richie feel like he could never be more in love at that moment.

He often was. 

There were no bounds for his love for Eddie. It was forever expanding. 

Spring rolled around. March 7th was Richie’s birthday, and for the most part he was looking forward to the first year of his life where he could wake up, roll over, and kiss his _boyfriend_ as a birthday present.

When he spoke this outloud to Eddie, whose hair was peacocked up at the back from the pillow against it and still had sleep in the corners of his eyes, he scoffed and pushed Richie away from his with a warm, gentle hand.

“After you’ve brushed your teeth, please.”

Eddie had let him kiss though, after Richie had brushed his teeth and then thrown himself back onto the bed, demanding kisses and breakfast with menaces.

“Eddie, it’s my special day. And I need my special guy to get in that kitchen and make me breakfast or I will perish.” He clasped his hands on either side of Eddie’s face, pressing their noses together and breathing into his space and enjoying the way that even though his breath was now minty, Eddie’s nose scrunched up all the same. 

“Please, Eddie. Come on.”

Thirty minutes later Eddie was dishing a cooked breakfast out onto some plates for the two of them. Animals dancing about their legs as they sat at the table, one of Richie’s hands resting out in front of him until Eddie stretched out his. Meeting Richie’s in the middle and squeezing his hand in his own, looking up from his scrambled eggs sheepishly; as if suddenly he was shy about simply holding hands. 

“You packed?” Was all he ended up saying.

Richie was in the process of kissing Eddie’s knuckles, and then taking a bite of his food in between kisses, 

“Duh. Did it all last night. Truck helped by sleeping on the clothes I was about to put in the bag.” 

The idea had come one night when Richie was on the phone with his dad, passing the phone briefly to Eddie when Went had asked to speak to him. Eddie’s brow furrowing and his face growing serious, if only for a moment though. After Richie’s father had apparently said something rather amusing to Eddie, he had breathed out a sigh of perhaps relief, and settled back into the couch a little more. Speaking to Went about the job he was starting now that he was more comfortable and settled in LA. The conversation had been easy after that, Richie’s eyes going a little wet and hazy around the edges because never in his life did he expect his parents to get on so well with one of his partners. 

Let alone a man.

Let alone _Eddie_. 

“Oh! Well...We don’t have plans just yet.” Eddie said thoughtfully and Richie’s ears pricked up.

“What’s he saying?”

“Shh.” Eddie scolded, flapping his hand to get Richie’s prying hands away from the phone pressed to his ear. 

“Went that’s very kind of you. Yes. Yes of course. Sure.” He held the phone out to Richie, “We’re going to your parent’s house for your birthday.”

Richie blinked.

“Huh?”

It felt strange to be going back East. Thankfully they weren’t going back to Derry, because Richie wasn’t sure how either of them would have taken that; not that Went and Maggie wanted to live there anymore anyway. The flight to Maine was uneventful and Richie might even go as far to say it was downright boring. If it hadn’t been for the fact Eddie had fallen asleep about twenty minutes in and Riche had spent the first hour of the flight seeing how many things from his bag he could balance on various parts of Eddie’s body. It had been going swimmingly until Eddie had woken up and a bunch of what might be considered by a normal person as garbage had fallen to the ground.

Richie had found it funny.

Eddie not so much.

It was late at night when they arrived at the house, the air cool and breathable compared to what both of them had grown accustomed to. Eddie’s shoulders relaxing at the gentle tug of the breeze as he watched Richie fumble with a key on his keychain that he had never seen him use before. For good reason, obviously, as it unlocked the front door of his parent’s house and as soon as he had a golden labrador came barrelling out. Knocking into Richie’s legs and he cursed, playfully, grabbing at the dog and rubbing it’s ears.

“Hey you stupid fucker.”

Maggie tutted at that as she stepped into the doorway to greet them, 

“Rich.”

But there was hardly enough weight behind the complaint, and she reached out her arms so he could step into them. Kissing his mother on the face and letting her hug him,

“You smell like airplane.” 

“Oh jeez, I wonder why.”

They both grinned.

Eddie left standing with a dog snuffling around his ankles, holding his overpacked suitcase and not quite sure how to go about this whole thing.

Myra’s parents were dead. Even when they had first met, they’d both been dead for a while. Unusual and unfortunate for people of their age at the time, but it granted Eddie the respite of never having to meet the in-laws. 

Which in itself, was a weird sentiment because he _knew_ Went and Maggie. He’d known them since he was tiny and would allow Maggie to feed him snacks his own mother would never dare to let near his Thundercats lunchbox. He’d watched Went do woodwork in the garage with Richie when they were about nine, and shrieked with laughter when he’d hammered a nail wrong and smacked his thumb to hell and back. Letting out the first real cuss Eddie had ever heard, “ _Christ on a bike_.”

Richie actually still said that same phrase even now. Even though Eddie doubted he knew where it came from.

But he knew them. 

They’d taken care of him all those years ago.

But, that was before he’d started dating their son.

Maybe Maggie sensed something in Eddie. Or maybe it was just the way he stood ramrod straight, forehead creased. She gave him a look, 

“You coming in, Eddie?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

Her hand patting him gently on the back as he made his way, along with the dog, into the house. 

The table was still laid for two people when they stepped into the dining room, Eddie already opening his mouth to apologise for being late and missing the dinner that Maggie had invited them to have. Maggie herself intercepting the motion by saying briskly, 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got some food in the oven leftover for you two if you’re hungry. I’m sure Rich is hungry. He’s always hungry.”

To answer that, Richie’s stomach rumbled.

So, they sat and ate leftover chicken pie as the dog paced around their shins, glancing hopefully at them and making Richie tsk and bat her away, 

“Go away Concrete.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead, 

“The dog is called _Concrete_?”

Richie shrugged, seemingly used to the name despite the fact it was verging on hideous, 

“She’s a slab of dog. What else would she be called? Aren’t you. A big fat girl.” He wiggled his fingers around till the dog was lumbering over and stuffing her head into the palm of his hand, Richie making kissy noises and suggesting that maybe he liked the creature a bit more than he initially let on. 

“I hope Truck and Win are alright.”

“They’re fine, Eddie. Don’t worry so much. Hey, eat your green beans, they’re good for you.” Richie’s fork darting out to poke at them, eyes half lidded and glowing slightly under the low lighting of the room now it was late. Eddie’s cheeks going hot and pink, 

“Stop it. I know.”

Went shuffled past halfway through them eating, Eddie’s haunches raising ever so slightly. He didn’t quite know how to interact with fathers, never really knew where to stand with them. No practise in that area. But Went always had seemed decent enough. Glasses, not unlike the pair Richie used to wear in his childhood, perched on his nose, and a surprisingly full head of greying hair; looking entirely like his son and Eddie hoped that Richie would age as gracefully as he seemed to have. 

He gave the two men a cursory nod, 

“Rich. Ed.”

Passing by them to pour himself a glass of water, rustling muted through the cupboards, seemingly trying to be as quiet as possible and when Maggie called from the other room, Eddie could see why.

“Are you after those cookies again?”

Went looked at Richie and rolled his eyes playfully, holding said cookies between his fingers and miming a hand action to suggest Richie shouldn’t dob him in. Richie getting the picture and calling back to his mom,

“No, mom. He’s just getting a drink. Lay off.”

Went squeezed Richie’s shoulder as he passed back, brushing some crumbs of the cookie off the front of his dressing gown, 

“Thanks bud.”

“No problem, dad.”

Eddie inhaled sharply at that.

The odd thought of, ‘maybe Richie would be as good a father as his own dad seemed’, flitting through his head. 

The thought alone making him slightly woozy.

They settled in almost as soon as they had finished eating, the dog following low at their heels and seemingly intrigued by the presence of people that weren’t Went or Maggie. Eddie’s eyes roaming the walls as they made their way upstairs, the house cozy and well lived in at this point which of course mean there were photos littering the walls as they moved up to the bedrooms. He made a mental note to properly look at them in the daylight the next day but his eyes caught on one photo in particular. 

Obviously taken the autumn of 1989, judging by the ages of all those present in the photo. 

He squinted at it, the frame of the photo as it hung was crested gold and gilded, not overly fancy but definitely a nicer choice than a simple wooden frame that seemed to decorate most of the other photographs in that particular spot on the wall.

Richie noticed him staring.

Leaning back down to take a look over the photo himself,

“Oh shit, yeah.”

“What?” Eddie breathed.

“Nothing. Just forgot about that one. I made mom keep that up in the house all the time, I guess she did even when they moved out here.”

He poked a finger at the glass of the photo, 

“God. Look how small we were.”

Eddie tugged the sleeve of his sweatshirt down, wiping the greasy mark Richie’s fingerprint had left. Looking into his own eyes, just almost thirty years younger, 

“I remember that day, it was a couple weeks after my birthday, wasn’t it.”

Richie didn’t really answer, just nodded and slid his hand into Eddie’s,

“Come on. Bed time.”

When they slid into bed together, teeth brushed and Eddie’s nightly skincare routine completed, he tucked himself onto Richie’s chest. Breathing in the tangy smell of the washing powder they used and Richie’s deodorant, chasing it into the crook of his neck and laying his mouth against the first section of skin he found. Richie making a gentle noise of contentment at the sensation, rubbing a hand over Eddie’s elbow and saying softly,

“Don’t make me horny in my parent’s house, dude.”

Eddie snorted a little laugh, biting as carefully as he could at Richie’s neck once and then retreating back,

“Hey.”

“Hello Mr Kaspbrak. Something you wanna say?”

Eddie rolled a thought around his head a moment, waiting till it formulated properly and he could say, 

“Do you remember most things from when we were kids now? Now that It's...Gone.”

Richie pulled a face that suggested it wasn’t quite that easy, wavering his hand back and forth a little, 

“Sort of? I think? Often I find myself remembering things that I had no idea I knew about it. It’ll all come rushing back. I think perhaps if I sat down and thought really hard I’m sure I’d be able to.” He stroked a big hand across the planes of Eddie’s back, tucking it underneath the fabric of his sleep shirt as soon as he could. Scratching his nails across his back and watching as Eddie’s eyes closed at the feeling of it, a smile splitting across Richie’s face at the sight of it, “I remember you. I remember a lot about you.”

Eddie’s eyes opened, straining a little in the dark but he fixed Richie with a look, 

“I remember you too.”

Richie’s hand descended once more, this time above the material of the shorts Eddie was wearing, grasping a handful of his rear,

“I remember that summer. All of it. I remember being utterly terrified of It. I remember Stan sobbing in that sewer and saying we left him I…” The breath left him, painfully fast, and if Eddie was sure it wasn’t a panic attack; he might have thought that was what was happening to Richie. But he powered on, “I remember it all.” Apparently done with the sentiment after that.

Eddie nodded, calmly pressing a hand to Richie’s cheek and directing his face towards a kiss. Touching their mouths together in what was more of a delicate indication that Richie was alright and safe more than anything else.

“I think I’m gonna have a hard time not remember how fucking gross you were as a kid. And pig-headed. And loud, always so loud.”

“Peas and fucking rice, Eddie. Way to let me know you thought I was as delightful as a child as you do now.”

“The point of saying ‘peas and rice’ is to not cuss Richie I-...Nevermind. Anyway.” His mouth puckered in a way that made Richie snigger, even if it was a bleary sight without his glasses which were perched on the bedside table, “Shut up. Stop laughing. _Anyway_ , I did like you, you were my best friend.”

“Still am...Right?” Richie actually sounded nervous.

“Of course you are. Who else is gonna be? Mark from the office? Fucking _Mark_?”

“Alright, lower the voice Foghorn Leghorn. Jesus. I get it, point taken. You’re crazy about me.” Richie was beaming though, full face aching smile split across his mouth as he muscled his way closer to Eddie again. Kissing him square on the mouth at least five times before Eddie was spluttering shyly and pushing him back a bit. “I remember _everything_ about you, my little Spaghetti. I also remember the first time I jerked off thinking about you.”

“Ergh.”

“No. Don’t say that. It was romantic and special for me. Nothing more noble than a kid whacking his Johnson to the thought of his greatest pal.”

“Rich, I don’t even know how to respond to that statement.” 

Which set Richie off cackling again, snorting a few laughs through the back of his nose and making Eddie go all, what his mother would describe in her time as, ‘ _Wibbly_ ’.

They clustered in a little further against each other after that, not usually ones for hankering down basically atop the other when they slept but it felt good. Good and maybe like they were teenagers sleeping in a twin again, looking at comics and books and Walkmans under the cover. Lit by a flashlight. 

Richie’s voice was muted as he suddenly said, “It’s kind of funny to think about.” Eddie’s eyes blinking open as he had started to drift off against the larger of the two, 

“What? Jerking off?”

Richie scoffed, rapping his curled fist ever so gently against Eddie’s skull as if to knock some sense into it, “No. Dummy. How much I really did have a crush on you, and you never even made a move on me. Not so cool, Edward. Kind of lame if you ask me.”

Eddie gaped, “Me? If you fancied me so much then why couldn’t you do it? If you liked me that much then I’m surprised it didn’t just come spilling out your fat mouth like word vomit, just like everything else does.”

“Bro, don’t make fun of me just because I have a sensitive gag reflex.”

“Shut up. Don’t call me bro while we’re fighting about why your gay ass couldn’t have just said, ‘Hey Eddie, would you like to come to the pictures with me?’”

“Ew. The pictures? It wasn’t the ‘50’s. Anyway...I was shy.”

“SHY! Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit. You were as shy as I was in love with Belch Huggins.” 

Richie reached a hand up to squeeze Eddie’s cheek (the good one) between his fingers, “Stop being sour. I was! I used to see love hearts floating around my vision whenever I gave you so much as a cursory look. I had it so bad. I just had to sit there and be on the brink of heaping my fucking lid over you.” He let Eddie smack his hand away and instead went back to kissing him on the mouth as many times as he could between speaking, “But look, it doesn’t matter now. I’ll take you to the pictures whenever you want. I’ll even let you wear my jackets or...Have my best Pogs.”

“You don’t own any Pogs.”

“I could, Eddie. _I could own Pogs_.”

“I’m going to bed, Rich.”

Richie looked smug in the darkness, “I love you so much.”

“Well. Of course I love you too.”

It was always appreciated to wake up in a house in which Eddie didn’t feel like he had to tip-toe around. Physically and metaphorically. The remnant ache of _parents bad parents overbearing parents frightening_ lurking just in the back crevices of his mind, but he wished it away with the look Richie gave him as they pulled on their clothing. Watching each other as they often did, Eddie smoothing a hand down over the crumples in Richie’s t-shirt, tutting and then kissing his mouth, “Kill you to iron?” Richie’s mouth curled up sharply, 

“Positively murder me.”

They eventually shuffled downstairs for breakfast, winding around the dog as she weedled between their legs, evidently still ecstatic to see new people in the house. The kitchen was slightly brisk and smelled like honey, a teapot off to the side making a whistling noise and Eddie glad to have put on socks at the feeling of the cool morning stone floors. Went came to stand by the cooker, taking the teapot off and making breakfast while Maggie looked over an iPad and grumbled, 

“I don’t fricking understand this website, Rich.”

“Mom!” He paused to look offended in her direction, “Criminy. At least say fuck. Fricking is a shitty cuss.” He slipped down into the chair next to hers, Eddie across the way as Went placed some plates of food in front of them, “Ma, you’re clicking the wrong thing. Here.” He took the device out of her hand, “Why aren’t you helping your poor struggling wife?” He cast a glance at Went, who shrugged.

“Not my fault she can’t book a table online.”

Maggie looked incensed, “Right well, you can do your own fucking washing then.”

Richie smacked an open palm across her back, “That’s the spirit, Mom! Fuck men! Useless ingrates...Right. There you go. All done.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and placed the tablet down as Went placed down his plate of food.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. The men of this house are smartasses through and through.” Maggie playfully scolded, “Ignore us, we’re not really this dysfunctional.”

Richie smiled through a mouthful of egg at her, chewing loudly, and she added.

“He is though. I actually don’t know who this man is, truly.”

Eddie waved it away, “It’s fine. It’s...Uh...Nice. I’m sure you remember my mom and what she was like.” He felt his cheeks heat up and he busied himself eating as well, noticing the look that Went and Maggie shared between them. The look that a lot of the other’s parents used to cast at each other whenever the topic of Sonia Kaspbrak was brought up in conversation amongst the adults of the town. 

Went hummed in agreement, “I remember how many times she’d bring you in for check-ups. You must have had the cleanest teeth in Derry.”

The comment was passing, but it made Eddie huffs a small, timid laugh all the same, “You’re probably right, sir.”

Went’s mouth twisted, “Oh, Lord, none of that. ‘M not a drill sergeant, Eddie.”

“Oh. Uh. Right. ‘Course.”

Maggie reached a hand out to him, the various rings she wore _clacking_ together and the skin of her fingers soft but finely lined as they wrapped around his hand, “What my husband is trying to say, is that we’ve been under the impression that you were part of our family since about 1984. You don’t need to be formal with us.” She smiled in a way that Eddie didn’t quite understand, but appreciated all the same.

She continued, a little lilt of humour to her voice, “We don’t tend to bring it up but, Rich at age ten declared at you were his favourite. We’ve just been playing the long game with you two.” All of a sudden, unnaturally for him, Richie’s face was pale and his eyes decidedly embarrassed in the way they flicked from his mom to his dad; as his mom reached out her other hand and squeezed his too, “Aren’t you glad you came over, sweetheart.”

Eddie wheezed a laugh. 

“...M-...Mom.” Richie gasped, and for the life of him, Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he saw him this mortified. 

It came about that the table Maggie was attempting to book was for dinner, a special treat for Richie’s birthday that he had gladly accepted because of course when would Richie Tozier say no to someone else paying for his food. Eddie presumed he had so much money because he generally lived off Takis and Mountain Dew and barely splashed out for the fancier things. God knows he hadn’t changed his wardrobe in about seven years. Something that Eddie would have rather died than do, but at least he’d grown accustomed to (and maybe even to love) Richie’s endless parades of Goodwill t-shirts with odd slogans on them.

He was less enthused, however, about the fact he’d have to now pour over the menu of the restaurant on his phone as he was curled around himself on the couch in the Tozier’s lounge at about 2pm. The dog equally as curled around his feet, her tail whumping softly against the cushions of the couch and as Maggie wandered into the room with a hot mug of something clasped in her hands, the dog lifted her head and whuffed. 

Maggie settled on the arm chair to the side of Eddie, her eyes falling on his phone, 

“Work?”

Eddie chewed at the corner of his mouth, which in turn made his finger’s itch to get out his Chapstick, “No, just...Having a look at what I can eat tonight.” He gave a faulty smile, which Maggie apparently noticed immediately, “Just like to see what’s on offer.”

“We can pick somewhere else if you’d like Ed-”

“It’s fine, Mrs Tozier. I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, “I just like to know first, it makes me...Feel better.”

Maggie shrugged and took a sip of what smelled to Eddie to be raspberry tea, “Nothing wrong with that, I’d say. And, honey, we told you. You don’t have to be formal. I raised Richie. You think I don’t know my own son was entirely soft on you from the get go? I’m a patient woman, I had to be with Rich acting the way he does.” Eddie couldn’t help the soft exhale of a laugh that left his mouth and Maggie looked pleased with herself, “I’ve had decades to align myself with the idea of you being my son-in-law, and in this family we’re incredibly informal.”

Eddie’s mouth went a little dry, and he swallowed against it, careful to pick his next words, 

“Do you mind that he’s….”

“Eddie, I’m old, but I’m not stupid; or cruel. Do I need to get out the, ‘I love my gay son’ sign I made for the local Pride when he phoned me and told me? I don’t mind. In fact, _I care_. And honestly, if he’s dating you then that means at least he’s probably tidied up that sty of a house he was living in.” She took another sip of her tea and folded her legs under herself, “Did you speak to your mother about it?”

Eddie’s mind went blank for a moment, “She...Passed before anything could be said.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eddie shrugged, placing down his phone next to him and a hand onto the dog’s head to pat her, “I know that nobody liked her in Derry. She wasn’t kind to you or the other moms. She wasn’t kind to anyone for the most part.”

“She was still your mother.”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully, “I’m beginning to think that perhaps that doesn’t mean a lot when people hurt you though.”

Maggie nodded, her eyes, eggshell blue behind her glasses and startlingly similar to the colour of the long forgotten inhaler, fixed upon Eddie’s, “It was sad when you moved to New York. Richie said you stopped writing and calling. It was hard to see him miss you so much.” Eddie stayed quiet, he daren’t mention anything because would you even begin to explain the mess that they had been through. The influence of something that Maggie and Went would never begin to imagine in all of their nightmares, bearing down on their child and his friend’s. So he passed it off.

“I think it was just a funny time of life. I just...Forgot.”

“It was odd because he forgot as well. Even I couldn’t quite remember you and your little gang until recently. Funny that, like that photo of the lot of you only appeared less than a year ago. From the loft. Funny.”

The sound Eddie made wasn’t particularly humoured, “Yeah. Funny.”

She raised her mug after a second of thought between them, “Glad you’re back now though. We both always thought you were a sweet young man. Polite. Even though I used to hear you cursing up a storm sometimes when you were in Rich’s room often enough.”

Eddie’s spine went stiff, embarrassment creeping up it, “Christ, was it that bad?”

“Rich said worse. I was just glad you weren’t smoking pot in there most of the time. Only because Went and I would have had to stop smoking it ourselves otherwise we’d be hypocritical, I suppose.” 

They talked for a while more after that, Maggie getting up to make Eddie a tea himself and although the flavour was new, he tried it all the same; just because she recommended it. They parked themselves back in the lounge together, dog between them, and Maggie making Eddie laugh in a way that he only really did with Richie. Turns out he got the wit from her and not his father. In the mix of it all, he had started to feel something he hadn’t felt around anyone other than Richie and, of course, the other Losers. Something that made his shoulders loosen and his brow unclench, a weight lifted off him that he barely even realised was there around most other people. 

He felt comfort. He felt _secure_. 

His chest seized all of the sudden, tea jolting in the mug and splashing onto his thigh and making Maggie’s face cloud with a look of worry, 

“You alright?”

Eddie’s tongue felt large in his mouth. Like he didn’t have room to think or talk around it. Perhaps this was what having an allergic reaction was like? He cast the thought out and took a small sip of his tea to calm himself down, 

“I’ve just had the weirdest realisation that I’ve never had fun with my mom like this before.”

Maggie blinked, once, twice, “Oh! Well…” Maggie actually looked a little flustered at the admission, like maybe even she wasn’t sure if Eddie enjoyed spending time with her, “That’s very kind of you.” Perhaps in that moment, Eddie wondered, he had given off some sort of aura of needing it, because Maggie said very assuredly, “Would you mind coming over here a second?” And as soon as Eddie was within arms length of her, Maggie was squeezing him against her in a crushing hug, “I know you’re too old for it, but sometimes it’s needed.”

The front door slammed shut, the tell-tale sound of Richie shouting down the house echoing through and following him into the hallway, stopping behind where Eddie was bent at an odd angle to accommodate Maggie’s short arms,

“Mom, I told you. Eddie doesn’t want to run away with you, as beautiful as you are.”

“Richie, shut up.” Both Eddie and Maggie scolded at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said two chapters for this fic but.....uhhhhhhhhhhhHHH. well. I don't really have a chapter estimation now but maybe.......five? who knows! that's the fun bit!
> 
> Also thank u to the people who have commented/left kudos, i know sometimes u read a fic and it's like okay cool close that tab but like...this is the first fic i've really put a LOT of effort into; so it'd be nice to get feedback. even if it's just like "u get to live another day for this one".

They ate out one night, mid April, at a new restaurant; which was still often a trigger for Eddie’s nerves. He liked things that he knew and was sure of, things that wouldn’t hurt him. But as he sat back in the chair and sipped at a white wine, he was calm. Richie’s mouth dry and eyes hungry as he looked at his boyfriend, one of Richie’s black shirts tucked into a pair of incredibly skinny jeans, fashionably ripped at the knees and when Richie caught a glimpse earlier in their bedroom of the sight of Eddie’s bare skin there he wanted to _bite it_. Sink his teeth in.

As sexy as he thought Eddie was in his polo shirts and slacks, there was something about Eddie settling into the _yes I am a hot forty year old man and I will buy clothes from Urban Outfitters to wear when I go out with my semi-famous boyfriend_ now he was living and working in LA. 

He still wore the polos and slacks and cardigans, but he also had what Richie described as his ‘sexy wardrobe’ too. There was a lot of black, a leather jacket much like Richie’s own, and even some graphic t-shirts. Richie liked the Evil Dead: Army of Darkness one the best. Mostly because it was cut just so that it clung to Eddie.

He always made an effort to look nice when they went out, as did Richie. Although, Richie had a sneaking suspicion that Eddie often wore things that he knew Richie found attractive, now that they were actually able to have sex Eddie really did enjoy flaunting himself in front of Richie like he knew it would get them both home and Richie pulling his outfits off.

Richie’s eyes caught on a purpling bruise he’d left high on Eddie’s neck as they ate together.

_Eddie, my love. All mine._

The meal had gone without incident, no hyperventilating because the waiter came back and told Eddie that what he’d ordered was unfortunately all out, and would he like something else instead? Eddie had just smiled at the poor guy, obviously used to people being jackasses to him, waved his hand a little and ordered something else. It had almost made Richie a little hard, if that wasn’t too weird. 

“You’re really handsome, have I told you that before?”

Eddie, pausing in wiping his fork with a napkin which was something he still did every time but Richie would never scold him for, 

“Uh. Yeah? All the time? You literally told me about two hours ago when I pulled that face because the cat stuck her butthole in it.”

“I mean it. You’re like, a model.”

Eddie scoffed, the conversation lulling for a moment as their plates were put down in front of them, 

“I’m not but thank you anyway. You’re beautiful too, sweetheart.”

Richie liked it when Eddie called him pet names. He’d never really heard anyone call him one who didn’t either want something or was his mom. Except for maybe Bev, she’d always call him something sweet and he loved that too. Loved when the four of them would get together in LA whenever Ben and Bev’s work had them in town, and Bev would leave Ben’s side to run at Richie and vault into his arms, saying, 

“Rich! Honey, you look so handsome. How are you, you shithead?”

As if they all didn’t talk every day in their group chat.

He liked it the most when it was Eddie though, and often he really needed some TLC as his mom used to say. That kind of gentle love that he’d never experienced from anyone before. 

He needed it most when another comedian, some asshole making the rounds that apparently had been a massive fan of Richie’s back in the day until he’d come out, had made some sort of dig at him at one of his live shows. Which had been a shitty move on the guy’s part because, Richie would never know why, people seemed to really like him. He’d picked up a whole new audience once he’d come out and changed his material, writing it himself and making sure it was actually funny. For the most part a lot of people had stuck with, although some hadn’t. But there were a lot of new fans too. 

People hadn’t taken kindly at all to this jerkoff making a joke of the fact Richie had been seen with Eddie out in Venice Beach once. Unfortunately for them, they had both been incredibly hungover and probably utterly disgusting. Sunglasses firmly on and hands clasped as Richie checked his phone for the nearest place for them to get Pad Thai, Eddie itching for some noodles once again. 

The comedian hadn’t used any slurs, which Richie was at least thankful for, but he’d been...Mean. Mean spirited and suggested that Richie was ignoring Eddie because he didn’t like him, doing it for publicity or something. Which was crazy because, who wouldn’t like Eddie? Honestly, he could barely fucking remember what exactly the bit was but, it was just kind of an asshole move. 

The guy had been heckled.

That part was kind of funny. 

But it had struck Richie that they were visible. They were in the public eye. People knew him and through that, people knew Eddie. They had Instagram accounts for fuck sake, when he’d mentioned Eddie at an awards show once, winning an award for Best Comeback Show (after he’d cobbled together some material to perform in a club downtown to riotous appreciation), calling him the love of his life on camera; it had left him breathless and nervous. But then he’d gone home and Eddie had said in a rush, “Dude, I have like...thousands more Instagram followers now?” 

Richie had just laughed and petted his hair, “Sorry babe. Your husband-o is just too cool that way, obviously.”

The fact of the matter was, however, that they were now exposed to everything. Something that Richie had spent his life attempting to shy away from. He’d barely slept with any guys for fear of them telling someone and it getting back to the media. “Local fag comedian” the internet headlines could have read and he would get heart palpitations, skin going sweaty at the mere thought of it. 

Unfortunately, this fuckhead’s jokes had landed them in the position of having to deal with the people that did find the bit funny though. Which there were just as many who didn’t. People who didn’t even like the guy latching on it and crying freedom of speech and everything else people with one brain cell to share between them always did. 

“Sweetheart, leave it.” Eddie placed a hand on Richie’s arm as he scrolled through twitter, opening up every single tweet that was making fun of him and looking at them until his eyes were sore. Wondering if everything would be easier if he’d just been born differently...If he’d just been born a better man. 

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, huffing a deep breath which echoed into a feeble little sob. 

He never cried in front of Eddie. As much as he wanted to and needed to. He didn’t cry in front of him. He was the strong one. 

He didn’t have a mom who had munchausen by proxy or an ex-wife who was emotionally abusive. He didn’t have a borderline pill addiction and he’d never been stabbed in the chest and suffered such bad nightmares from it that he’d wake up in tears.

Eddie gathered him up in his arms, an awkward feat considering Richie had a good four inches on him. Tucking his head under his chin and stroking his side, 

“Please don’t cry, that’s my job, babe.”

Richie snuffled against him, leaning into him fully and tucking his legs up so the dog could hop onto the couch and see what was going on, 

“I fucking hate it when assholes make me feel like I’m back at square one.” He wiped the back of his sleeve across his nose, noting that Eddie only looked disgusted for a millisecond, “I like being gay, and I’d never thought I would end up at a place where I could say but… I do. I like that I say, “That’s my boyfriend.” I’m far happier being gay than I was pretending to be a straight dude who jacks off to my girlfriend’s friends.”

He must have looked ridiculous, glasses pulled off and eyes watery and red. Clutching at Eddie like a little child, but he felt it. He felt like when Bowers would terrify him or when he’d put his fingers in his ears so as to not hear people talking about men dying of AIDs because they were the same thing he was. Except this time it wasn’t some man he’d never known, it was himself that was the sole subject of the belittling. 

The phone was pulled from his vice like grip, placed on the table next to their couch and Eddie tilted his head up, 

“We lived. We keep working through this shit, together. Right?” Echoing Richie’s sentiment from months and months ago. 

Richie sniffed, tears still streaming down his face but now they felt almost cathartic, like he needed to cry about this to get passed it. 

Almost like Eddie had to open himself up to intimacy to get passed his hangups. 

“Mm. Yeah.”

“He’s a cunt. His material isn’t even funny. And the people @’ing you on Twitter aren’t ever going to have the mental capacity to understand that being an openly raging gay is one of the best things you can do, especially when you’re out there in the eyes of thousands and thousands of people. You’re brave, Rich. And funny, and sometimes you’re even kind of smart. So don’t be an idiot and let it get to you.”

Richie, from where he was tucking his face into the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt, laughed softly, the vibrations tickling Eddie’s neck, 

“Sometimes.”

“Do you wanna make a tweet making fun of his hairline?”

“...Maybe.”

“Let’s do that then.”

“You’re an evil little dude sometimes, Eds.”

“And you’re the love of my entire life, so what?”

Richie nestled down against Eddie, enjoying the comfort radiating off of him. Skin warm and cheeks still sort of damp with his tears, but it was alright because Eddie was there for him; just as he was always there for him as well. 

“Call me baby again. Please.” He urged.

Eddie’s face went red, like he’d only just realised he’d been doing it, 

“I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.”

For summer vacation, they all took a trip down to Florida to Mike and Bill’s holiday home, Richie dumping his bags in the entrance way and sticking his hands on his hips. Eyes flying across the delicately decorated space, entirely different from his and Eddie’s personal spaces. Much less nerd regalia and a lot more mahogany and lamps. He nodded to himself, he did always expect Mike to be somewhat of a refined gay dude. Maybe not Bill so much, he wore plaid. The two other men hugging Eddie and Rich as they came in, both looking happier than either of them had ever seen them.

“Come on outside, Ben and Bev are by the pool.”

Rich snorted, “Ooh, you hear that Eds? They got themselves a pool!” 

Eddie looked so funny in his swimming trunks, and by funny, Richie meant: so hot he was having trouble focusing on what Ben was saying about the wedding. Gazing lovestruck at him as he lounged next to Bill, both of them drinking beers and laughing at something the other had said. It made Richie’s heart do funny things inside the cavern of his chest, thumping around not dissimilarly to when Mike had phoned. But this time it wasn’t fear, it was adoration. 

“So, when are you going to start popping out mini Bens and Bevs?” Richie asked as he swirled his straw around in his Sex On The Beach, thank god for Bev having been a cocktail waitress in her twenties, “Because honestly, I want to see some babies and fuck knows if Eddie and I are going to have them. You would have thought the amount of times I’ve nutted in him he’d be pregnant by now but…Darn, seems we’re doing something wrong!”

“Beep Beep.” Mike mumbled from where he was dozing. 

Bev sniggered though, 

“I mean, maybe one day? We’re kind of just focused on the fact our caterers are this close to pulling out.”

“See, I never have that problem. I never pull out.”

This time it was Ben spluttering on his drink, half laughing and half shocked, 

“Jesus, Rich.”

Richie took a sip of his drink and then raised it, 

“Hey. A toast to the first Losers to tie the knot. I for one can’t wait to freeze my ass off just to see Beverly look stunning in a dress and Ben to look like he’s just made his way out of a twunk porno.”

“Hear, hear.” Said Bill from across the way. 

A chorus of the same going around them all as Bev looked a bit misty eyed and Ben just looked confused as to what a twunk was.

That night they’d all gone out for dinner, not for Chinese though. 

They all agreed that Chinese restaurants weren’t somewhere they wanted to all go together for a long time. So they went to a fancy burger place, one of those places where all the burgers had quirky names and they had proper soda floats and milkshakes, and an extensive veggie and vegan menu too. Which of course Eddie went wild for, looking like a kid in a sweetshop when he saw he could have a beetroot burger.

“It’s packed full of fiber and B9, babe.”

“Oh good, I’m glad you’re going to be shitting well.”

“Rich, d-dude, please.” Bill squawked. 

Bev turned the conversation onto slightly more pleasant matters as they began to eat, Richie slurping on a banana milkshake, 

“I saw the photo of your animals on Instagram a couple of months ago, utterly in love with your puppy. What’re they called?” Grey-green eyes sparkling at Richie as she dug at her cheese fries with a fork, looking beautiful and hungry at the same time. Richie thought she looked lovely. 

“Truck. Well, Monstertruck. But that’s apparently embarrassing to say at the vets, isn’t that right Eds?”

Eddie nodded to the side and smacked Richie’s hand away from his sweet potato fries. 

“Trust you to come up with a name like that, Rich...Well, he’s cute as all hell. We haven’t had a pet since we had a fish a while back, Ben cried when it died and we had to flush it down the toilet.” 

Bev couldn’t stop herself laughing at that, covering her mouth with a hand and smearing some ketchup onto her chin in the process, “He kept saying, “she was so young”, as this little orange body swirled down the bowl.” Laugh turning into a full body shake which had all of them, bar Ben who looked a bit nonplussed if slightly amused, practically wheezing with laughter. 

Ben nudged Bev’s elbow with his own, ducking his head and looking embarrassed, 

“She was a good fish!”

“Oh. The best, honey.” Bev agreed, eyes brimmed with tears of mirth.

Richie licked his thumb, leaning over and swiping the ketchup off of Bev’s chin, who just continued laughing and squeezed Ben’s arm, 

“Maybe having your pets will be good practise for babies, since you want to see some Loser kids so much. Why not just have some of your own?” 

Richie went very pink, 

“Oh, jeez. I wouldn’t want another human being ending up like me. If I had kids I’d accidentally teach them to say ‘fuck’ before they knew how to say daddy. Do we really need any more Richies running around under our feet? Eddie’s already got his hands full as it is.” Eddie seemed to echo that sentiment as he, once more, shoved Richie’s prying fingers off of his plate of food, adding to Richie’s statement by saying, 

“If Rich and I had kids they’d also end up being called Lion-O and SethMeyer. All one word. I don’t think any kid needs to be subjected to that sort of torture.”

That made the whole gaggle of them break into laughter. 

There was, however, a seventh set of laughter un-laughed from the space they’d reserved for Stan. 

Richie knew if he was there though, that he’d be laughing too. Rolling his eyes fondly just like he always would when he was little and joining in all the same.

The night had ended with them all verging on shitfaced, walking arm in arm back to Bill and Mike’s, mumble-singing a The Cure song that Rich had brought up for some reason. Every single one of them giggly and ridiculously untroubled by anything at that current moment, even as Bill tripped on a loose paving tile and was sent pitching forward. Mike grabbing onto his arm in time and everyone aww-ing and cooing at them like they were teenagers again. The two of them going pink around and edges, but still brushing their lips together all the same; Bill’s arms around Mike’s neck as Bev laughed brightly and Richie goaded them on. It all felt very right and very cathartic. 

They settled into the living room of the house, blankets and pillows thrown everywhere, making a nest for them to all curl into. Taking glasses of wine and beer bottles with them, everyone slotting into their allotted couplings; looking so young and like nothing had ever changed. Nothing had ever gone wrong. 

“I love you guys.” Ben said very gently once they were all underneath covers and blinking between sleep, “I’m so glad we’re all together.” Bev kissed his forehead at that, so Richie did too, just to be a smartass. But actually, Ben didn’t look too upset by it. Smiling dopily and going red at the apples of his cheeks, “I just really do love you guys.”

“W-wuh-we heard you the first time, Haystack.” Bill grumbled, eyes already closed. Mike shoving his arm and giving him a look until Bill was sniggering and squeezing Ben’s hand, signifying that he meant no harm. 

If Richie closed his eyes he could almost see them, thirteen and stacked into Big Bill’s front room, VHS of some splatterhouse film playing and Eddie’s face tucked into his shoulder, sending his heart racing. Everyone else gasping and crunching popcorn and looking like nothing was ever going to go wrong again. 

He laughed weakly, “God, am I fucking glad as all hell we got out. Of Derry, I mean. After that second time. We all survived. What are the fucking odds.”

Eddie’s voice sounded tinny as he added, almost as an afterthought, “Except Stan…”

That sobered them all a bit.

“Hey...Stan’s still here. I’m sure he is. He’d never leave us, Losers for life.” Mike uttered. 

They laid an extra pillow out that night, leaving a well in the covers and sheets they’d thrown together. And just as on a beach a few miles away, a turtle dragged itself across the sands, they all could swear that the dip in the middle of the pillow was shaped just like a head and the blankets fell in such a way that it felt like maybe someone was there with them. Smelling of hazelnut coffee and books about bird watching. 

And if for the next three nights they all slept together like that, leaving space for Stan to visit, none of them had any problems with it. 

They’d all cried when they had to leave, unembarrassed by the display of emotion as they stood in the airport together, grasping at each other and kissing cheeks. Richie sniffling and running a sleeve across his nose, Ben stroking Bev’s hair and shaking Bill’s hand only to be pulled into an all encompassing hug by him; despite the fact he was the tiniest of all of them and trying to get his arms around both Ben and Bev seemed like no small feat. Mike had Eddie under his arm, Eddie flushed in the face and damp around the eyes, 

“Will we see each other before the wedding?” His voice reedy and hands tucked deep into the pockets of the jacket he definitely didn’t need in Florida. 

Bill, untangling himself from Ben and Bev, answered gently, 

“Maybe we could all c-c-come to LA some t-time? Mike and I are staying out here for a bit longer while I do some writing but w-wuh..we’ll be back at mine in the Hills by October.”

Richie grinned,

“Halloween at mine it is then.”

September came before October however, and September was not a good month.

They never spoke much about Eddie’s mother, it was a subject that neither of them seemed comfortable to broach, it also just wasn’t particularly in either of their dialogues to bring it up. Eddie was back working for a company about a thirty minute drive from their house (albeit only a few days a week, some days he’d work from home) and Richie was in the stages of working on a new stage show, something to debut in the spring of 2018 potentially. They were adults and they were busy to add to that, they didn’t always have the time to sit down and discuss their feelings like they’d done when they were both just lying around the house and recovering. 

Both of them mostly just spent their time being...Well, a normal couple with normal couple things to do. They had also somehow slipped into being what Richie described as, “antique homos”, in that Eddie had complained for about six months straight (probably more like a year) about how Richie’s house had absolutely no life to it. 

Which wasn’t true, it had plenty of life. 

From the clothes he forgot to put into the hamper to the dishwasher left unloaded because he’d always forget and secretly enjoy watching Eddie bending over to grasp mugs from out of it and huff as he put them away. 

There was life in every corner of their house, and most often than not there were also cobwebs that Eddie couldn’t reach and Richie didn’t have a cobweb brush to get at. 

Every evening he’d sit on the couch and face the big windows that led out to the balcony, then to the sprawling (well, as sprawling as LA could get) garden beneath that Truck and Winifred enjoyed blustering about in during the day. Somehow both of them utterly content to play with the other, maybe not even realising that they weren’t the same creatures. Richie sort of loved that. 

Richie would sit though, watching as the sun would set across all of their lovingly labelled “tat”. Across his awards and Eddie’s comics. His records and Eddie’s collection of bottle caps. Everything that he loved was finally inside somewhere that he could call his and Eddie’s. It was like the clubhouse, but better. The light trickling across the room and casting shadows across Eddie’s face where he’d often be snoozing quietly on the other side of the couch, out flat from driving home as he waited for Richie to cook them dinner. 

He’d often reach out and touch his face, watching it relax against his palm and how the dappled amber light that Richie had gone wild for when he’d purchased the house would illuminate all the parts of Eddie’s face that once might have scared him but now he loved. All the intersecting lines under his eyes and the horizontal scar on his cheek from Bower’s knife. They weren’t thirteen anymore but they were forty and he’d never been happier. 

Despite all these things, and despite Richie proclaiming that their house was perfect, that didn’t stop them from laxing into gazing longingly at old furniture in windows and light fixings. Eddie clasping Richie’s hand in his particularly tight whenever he’d see some sort of ridiculous thing like an _armoire_ or _ottoman_ he really quite liked.

It was entirely amusing to Richie. 

“We’re old queens.” He’d say.

“Speak for your-fucking-self, man.” Eddie would answer.

But it kept them busy, slowly but surely adding bits and pieces to the house that not only Richie liked, but Eddie did too. 

It kept them...Distracted. 

Until mid September, of course. 

Again, the mother business wasn’t brought up very much. Who’d want to start a conversation with, “Hey babe, would you like to talk about the woman who irrevocably ruined your life and is the cause of many of your deep set emotional and mental issues?”

Nobody.

You want to start conversations with: “How was work today, sweetheart?” or: “I’ve made you a cup of coffee, come sit down with me here.”

However, Richie found out very quickly that September 25th was the anniversary of Eddie’s mother dying, and he was not ready for the way that Eddie seemed to deal with that fact. He’d expected some tears, maybe an angry rant which Eddie was accustomed to letting loose on him when he was particularly frustrated. He was prepared for that. Had even gone and bought a load of the food that Eddie asked most for. He wasn’t prepared for a total breakdown. 

Because really, how was he to know? 

Eddie had been fine the year before but, of course, there had been more pressing matters last September like adjusting to the fact they’d both almost died earlier that month.

“Baby, are you going to call in sick?” Richie didn’t dare open the door of their bedroom, the last time he’d attempted to that morning Eddie had thrown the alarm clock at him and told him to get out, and that he needed his space. 

He was like a different person. 

“I’m the head of my department, Rich. I don’t need to fucking call in. People call in to me.”

Richie retreated, slipping back to his office and quietly shutting the door behind him. Sinking low and hard into his big, comfy office chair that he’d bought to straighten his back but also keep his ass nice and comfortable as he typed on his laptop. Pushing his glasses up and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a couple of fingers and a thumb, “Jeez.” He rushed out. 

It had started the night before with Eddie coming home in a daze, eyes glazed over and something noticeably off about his whole demeanour. Shoulders sunken and hands twisted on the strap of the messenger bag he always took to work. His shirt had been put on unironed that morning at 7:23am. An hour after he usually got dressed. It wasn’t like him at all. 

Richie had been cutting veg in the kitchen, tea towel slung over his shoulder as he hummed merrily to the radio burbling in the background.

Eddie had come in and switched it off. 

“Hey man, I was listening to that.”

The look he had gotten was like hot coals. 

“I need to go back to New York.”

Richie paused in his cutting, 

“Uh...Why?”

Eddie scowled, hands tight on the counter edge, knuckles gone as white as his face was, 

“Mom’s....It’s where she’s buried. Today is…”

“Hey. Hey, it’s fine. I understand.”

The thing was, Richie didn’t understand. At all. Maggie and Went were obviously both alive and were both, for the most part, lovely parents. Perhaps they might have been a little distant when he was a child and into his teens, but it was entirely different now. They had supported Richie through everything, even through a very public breakdown when he was about thirty one and verging on alcoholic and entirely in the public eye as an up and coming comic. 

They’d been there for him phoning them at one o’clock in the morning once him and Eddie had returned from Derry, hands shaking and forehead sweaty. “Mom, I’m gay.” Maggie had cracked a yawn into the phone and just said, “Okay, can you be gay tomorrow morning too?” And hung up.

Rich loved his parents dearly. 

And if his birthday was anything to go by, they loved him too.

And Eddie as well.

Which was why he just couldn’t wrap his head around what the fuck was going on with Eddie. Surely he would be happy that his mom was dead? She represented so much of his life that he was terrified of and glad to be rid of. She was like a cancerous mole that had finally been removed. She was gone and Richie was glad of it. 

Eddie didn’t go to New York as he intended. 

He stayed at home, pale and sweaty in the sheets of their bed. Spending fitful nights sleeping and restless days on the couch, watching tv and gazing with hollow eyes like it was only yesterday that she had passed. He was sickly and tearful, looking like he had been when they’d arrived home from the hospital finally the year before, and it set Richie’s teeth on edge. His stomach twisting in what he could only derive some sort of amusement from imagining it was a pretzel. But it felt nonetheless like there were a pair of hands inside his guts wringing them ragged as he sat at the dining table and watched, just a ways away, at Eddie as he dozed through his third day off sick from work.

He wasn’t sick though, he was grieving. 

For what, Richie couldn’t understand one bit. 

On the evening of that third night, Eddie’s head swung towards Richie suddenly, one of his hands clutched around that same eggshell blue that made Richie’s eyes prickle and his stomach drop. He had spent the day ignoring the inhaler as best he could. Eddie’s eyes almost looking disgusted; angry and resentful as he glared at Rich across the room, 

“You don’t understand what it’s like for me.”

Richie, startled from where he was typing on his laptop, looked up and met Eddie’s gaze,

“Uh?”

Eddie tucked the blanket around his shoulders closer, taking a wobbling step off the couch and standing, slightly hunched over the coffee table,

“I loved her. Even through what she did to me. I really fucking loved my mom, Rich.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to m-”

“Shut up. For once, please. Just shut up.”

And then, he was gone. Snatching up his car keys off the countertop and whisking out through the door like a hurricane blowing straight through Richie’s house. Leaving him utterly baffled and, he wouldn’t admit this when he texted Bev about it, crying his eyes out. 

Richie: _he just left? I dont understand what happened. I knew he was upset about his mom but he looked at me like he wanted me dead and then he just left_  
Bev: **don’t hold it against him, we both know he has a lot of things going on in his head**  
Bev: **maybe text him and just make sure he’s alright though okay? X**  
Richie: _yeah, thats probably a good idea…_  
Richie: _what if he doesnt come back_  
Bev: **how many times as kids did he have a total meltdown and disappear for a couple hours then turn up fine again?**  
Richie: _im not sure its as easy as that anymore, but thank you anyway. love you._

He’d done as Bev had suggested. Sending a short and surprisingly sweet text to Eddie, seeing the little blue ticks come up on Whatsapp to say that he’d received and opened it. There was no reply, which was fine. Richie wasn’t really sure if he’d want a reply, honestly. He was sort of frightened. 

Truck snuffled his way onto the couch where Rich was sat, the blanket that Eddie had been wrapped in all day clasped in his fist, smelling like sweat and sickness. Kind of salty too, like Eddie had been crying so hard it had seeped into the fabric. 

The dog digging his nose into Richie’s arm, eyes blank and full of love for his dad. Richie patted his dense little dog head, 

“Your other dad is a bit of a psycho, huh?” 

“Totally coocoo!” Truck answered in a way that sounded eerily like Richie doing a Voice. 

He sighed, dropping his head to his chest, 

“I should probably try and look after him and work out why this is so much, shouldn’t I?” 

“Oh, for sure, monsieur.” Truck was a _French_ Bulldog after all. 

“I love your other dad, Truck.” 

Truck didn’t answer this time. 

Eddie slid back into the house at three o’clock in the morning, keys jangling mercilessly onto the counter as he drunkenly dropped them there, shushing them as soon as it had happened. He crept as quietly as he could in his state to the bedroom where Richie had fallen asleep on top of the cover, despite the fact it was already starting to get cold in LA at night. Eddie slipping off his shoes, immediately tripping over them as soon as he’d put them on the floor and cursing, blaming it on the cat. 

He tugged off his shirt and jeans, slipping under the covers in just his boxers and turning to face Richie as he slept. Eyes unfocused and jumping around, tequila demanding that they were unable to settle on the man in front of him. 

“Rich.” He muttered. 

Richie stirred slightly, one hand going out as he sucked in a gasp. Something that often happened when he was awoken from sleep, side effect from living out horrors that most normal people wouldn’t ever have to. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yeah. S’me.” 

Richie’s nose wrinkled, eyes still shut like he didn’t want to face him, 

“You smell like a bar.” 

“Sorry. Went to one.” 

This had Richie peeling open his eyes, his own just as unfocused as Eddie’s but at least he had the excuse of being visually impaired, Eddie was just a drunk asshole. Richie batting away his hands at they leered up his arms, trying to catch a hold of him and pull him closer to Eddie. He didn’t want that though. He wanted Eddie to tell him what the real problem was.

“Why did you leave?” 

Eddie didn’t answer for a long time, they just lay there staring at each other. Bathed in the waxy moonlight as it tripped through the blinds that Richie hadn’t bothered to draw entirely, aware that this might happen and maybe Eddie would need a little light to guide him back into bed. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” Eddie lamented after a pregnant pause. 

Richie’s hand went out again, furling around Eddie’s wrist and bringing it up to his lips to kiss gently, “What the fuck would I be disappointed about? That you cared for the woman that raised you? I’m an asshole, Eddie, but I’m not a monster.” 

Eddie’s breath hitched and all of a sudden he was crying again. Big, fat tears that rolled down his cheeks in rivets and coalesced in the centre of his chin, making him look like a school child that had just fallen and grazed their knee. Shredding the skin off. 

“I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t love her anymore. She’s part of the reason I am the...Way I am. What am I supposed to do with this?” He flattened a hand over his chest, holding it above where Richie had seen him almost sliced apart, “What am I supposed to do with all this guilt I have for her? Or the fact I can’t move on?” 

“I...I don’t know, Eddie.” Richie stammered back, because he didn’t. He had no idea at that moment. 

Eddie sniffed, tears continuing to bubble over, 

“I’m so fucking glad she’s dead and I don’t have to see her anymore, but I miss her so much. She was awful and yet every once in a while I sit at home and cry because I’m a guy in his forties who can’t let it go.” 

Richie pulled him close at that, ignoring the fact he was breathing hot, acidic, alcohol breath all over his face and making his eyes water a little bit, 

“I’m not going to pretend that I know what the fuck you feel, because I don’t but...You’re allowed to grieve for a parent, Eddie. You’re right, she was your mom. And you’re also right, she’s gone. And no matter how hard you cry and are a shithead to me, she’s not going to come back.” He licked his lips, “I love you, and I don’t want to upset you anymore than you already are but, you’re going to have to fucking accept that.” 

Eddie’s voice was barely audible as he croaked, “I don’t want her to be gone.” 

“I know. But she is. I’m sorry, Eddie.” 

“She always said that I’d leave her. Abandon her. Even It said that, below Keene’s when it fucking made me think that she was down there. Suffering. It said that’d leave her. It knew. And she knew it too.” 

“Do you not think she said that so you’d feel even more guilty? So you’d feel sympathy for her?” 

“Perhaps…” Eddie slurred, letting Richie cocoon him in his arms, remembering when he was maybe ten or so and his mother would gather him up and kiss his forehead. Her face smelling of non-descript ointments and Vaporub. Telling him that he was her reason for living. 

“She wasn’t an entirely bad mom, Rich.” 

“No, Eds, but she wasn’t a good one either.” 

They fell asleep like that, Richie waking up unusually early for him at 6am. Rolling out of bed and leaving Eddie to sleep on, tucking the covers around him and kissing his temple. Briefly watching as his chest rose and fell and rose again. Sequential movements that reminded Richie that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet, if he had any say in it. The cat leaping gracefully onto the cotton bedspread about him, kneading her claws into it and curling up next to Eddie’s prone form as Richie shut the door quietly behind himself. 

Busying himself about in the kitchen, letting Truck out to pee then making coffee and scrambled egg whites just like Eddie liked when he was hungover. Tossing the inhaler he found on the side straight into the bin and not giving it another thought. 

When he nudged open the bedroom door with his hip, tray of breakfast and hot drinks in his hands, Eddie was sat up with his reading glasses on and staring at his phone. Eyes drifting from the device to Richie, wherein he blushed furiously, 

“Hi.” 

Richie smiled, “Hey, fuckass. You ready to be nice to me now?” 

Eddie groaned, “I know. I’m sorry.” His voice wavered, “Really. I’m sorry. Every year I just-” 

“It’s alright. I’m grateful you didn’t start beating me to death with a plastic inhaler honestly. It’s fine. We’ll live.” 

Eddie grimaced, eyes a little blood shot as they usually were when he’d been at the tequila, 

“Are you sure you’re not just saying that?” 

Richie set the tray down on the nearest clear surface, passing Eddie his mug (which read “Trash The Trashmouth” from Richie’s last run of shows) of coffee and gently placing himself on the bed next to Eddie, as not to disturb the cat too much, 

“You know it’s been a whole year since you moved in with me, right?” 

Eddie nodded, not entirely sure where this was going. 

"So I’ve lived a year with you being you, and I’ve managed alright. We both have. How many times do I have to tell you, dude, out of everyone you decided to fuck; I’m probably one of the few people who knows and entirely accepts you. I don’t quite understand all your quirky little brain worms but, I’m not going to give up on shit just because you have mommy issues.” 

Eddie looked skeptical, 

“What if it happens next year?” 

“Well, then I’ll be ready, won’t I?” 

Eddie _hmm_ ’d as he wasn’t too sure, he reached a grabby hand out towards the plate on the tray all the same. Richie passing it over to him as Eddie mumbled, 

“Don’t say we’re just fucking. It’s derogatory.” 

Richie rolled his eyes and took a sip of his own coffee before adding, 

“Sorry, sorry. As the man you decided to take as your bride, I shouldn’t diminish myself…” He eyed Eddie beside him, thankful that it was a Saturday and Eddie didn’t have work anyway as he said, ever casually, 

“...Do you wanna fuck though?” 

Richie had never seen anyone eat an egg scramble and kick a cat back out into the hallway so quickly. 

The past three and a bit days completely forgotten with Eddie sitting back on Richie’s fingers, column of his throat exposed and milky which Richie had to physically hold himself back from sinking his teeth into. Settling for watching as his eyes slipped shut and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he sank down on his cock. Brushing his hand up Eddie’s chest, thumb going over his right nipple and watching the way his hips twitched up. Eddie had called him a fuckwad once when he’d called him cute when they were having sex but, he was. 

He was _cute, cute, cute_. 

Shy about touching himself despite the fact he was doing all the hard work by riding Richie like he had something to prove. Thighs straining as he raised and lowered himself onto him, groaning every time he did and somehow managing to ignore the fact his own erection was tucked neatly up against his tummy. Richie watching as it left a wet smear across the hard planes of his stomach. 

He reached out a hand and mercifully wrapped it around Eddie, watching as his whole body shuddered and he whimpered like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn't. 

“ _Rich…_ ” 

It tumbled out of him, needy and brisk and Richie didn’t even want to answer. Just made a conscious effort to push his hips up into him harder and stroke him in tandem, watching as Eddie was tossed between the two sensations. Hands curled on Richie’s chest like he was attempting to ground himself, 

“Fuck. My knees hurt, can we flip?” 

Richie had to laugh at that, even Eddie’s admissions of being middle aged made him want to come. 

It was easier with Eddie on his back though. Richie didn’t often pride himself in many things but he knew how to tell a joke that would set people off roaring with laughter and he also knew how to fuck Eddie so hard that his voice would pitch up a notch and he’d go basically incoherent for a while. Which was quite lovely. Richie loved Eddie but he also loved when he’d be so thoroughly fucked that he’d go completely non-verbal. Reduced to biting on his fingers and moaning around them, cheeks pink. 

It also meant that he’d stop calling Richie stupid names for a bit too. 

Despite what he claimed at shows, Richie hadn’t really had a lot of great sex in his lifetime. He’d had a couple of on and off partners who he’d really liked and enjoyed having sex with, and of course he wasn’t a turbovirgin (his own words) or anything. But it wasn’t like he was getting it good on the regular since he was about thirty four and he’d been seeing a guy, on the down low, who was a couple of years younger than him. He’d wanted to fuck Richie everywhere. It had been exhausting and exhilarating. They’d “broken up” a week before Richie had turned thirty five and they’d never spoken again. 

The sex really had been amazing though. 

The first time Richie had fucked a guy and not felt like he was ashamed of it. 

Depressing, he knew. 

But Eddie was different. Every time they had sex it was like a little bit more of him opened up, if you’d excuse the pun. Like cracking away a bit more of the eggshell around Eddie’s worry about intimacy, gently peeling it off and getting to his centre. Richie adored it. He adored getting Eddie’s clothes off and kissing the inside of his thighs until he was shaking. How Eddie would often relent control entirely and would stuff his face into a pillow with his hips, and destructively-perfect-for-a-middle-aged-man ass, in the air and let Richie lick into him; tears gathering at the corner of his eyes like he’d never felt anything like it. 

He probably hadn’t. 

Things he’d once found abhorrent he practically begged Richie to do to him and it was dirty but also unusually heartwarming. Richie was the only one Eddie would ever let him do those kinds of things to and he tucked that knowledge smugly away within him. 

He stuck a hand into the sheets below them, anchoring himself to them as he pushed his hips up into the soft curve of Eddie’s ass. 

Eddie’s legs tucked around his waist and his own hand slotted between them, touching himself as Richie kissed him. Allowing himself that as he felt as if Richie was too distracted to look down and comment on it, which he definitely would do if he had the time. But he didn’t. Kissing Eddie hard, hearing his wet gasp as he bit too hard at his bottom lip. Breaking off after a moment to push his spine up in a tender bow, hands clamped firmly on Richie's shoulders and Rich could feel his fingerprints sinking into the flesh there. The column of Eddie's throat looking entirely open and as if he should maybe do something about the fact it was milky and untouched. They weren't teens anymore, he knew that. But still, he didn't get to give Eds hickies in the 80's so by the laws of the land; he should be able to now. 

That had Eddie whining, as soon as Richie's mouth was sucked tight to his skin. Sounding a lot younger and a lot more vulnerable than he did in day to day life, and perhaps that made Richie's cock twitch inside him. 

"Do you like that?" Richie managed to say, mouth still pressed tight to Eddie's neck. Syllables slurred and muffled slightly, the sounds of them verging on garbled and wet. Who could blame Richie though? 

Eddie answered after a moment, one of his hands migrating to toss across his eyes, not wanting to make any kind of eye contact, "Yeah." 

A laugh was stifled into Eddie's neck from Richie at that, "Fuck Eds, you're off the chain with this dirty talk." 

"S-Shut the fuck up Richie. I'm trying to focus on the dick in my ass." 

"Oh. That's kinda hot." 

"It'd be hotter if you stopped being self indulgent and focused on the job at hand." 

"Baby, we're not at the office." 

"No. We're in bed. And I'm trying to get my brains fucked out." 

Eddie was never one to mince words, Richie was well aware of that fact. But, nevertheless, the combination of his snarky snipes and admissions that maybe he loved getting fucked? Well, Richie was only human, even if he had convinced himself in fourth grade that he might have been a vampire. So, being the kind, thoughtful, _sexy_ boyfriend he was; he gave Eddie exactly what he wanted. 

Settling one of his hands on the bed next to Eddie and using the other to get a fistful of hair, _tight_ , in his grasp. Pulling Eddie's head backwards, watching as his eyes rolled back and fluttered beneath his eyelids as he closed them. Whimpering in a way that Richie would attempt to bring up later and Eddie would turn bright red at. But at the moment, he could tell that Eddie was indulging in it, cock pink and _wet_ still and God, Richie wanted to put his mouth on him until his thighs clamped around his ears and he was coming down his throat. Unfortunately for both of them, human bodies didn't tend to bend that way. He forfeited that idea for fucking Eddie so hard that for the first time in a while, they both shut up. Aside from the sounds of Eddie's hiccuping gasps and Richie sucking in breaths every time Eddie clenched down around him. Richie's eyes swimming as he released Eddie's hair, clenching his fist together as if he were thinking of what to do with it. Slowing his thrusts slightly to _look_ at Eddie. Cheeks and lips the same colour as where he was leaking, eyes glassy and darting around like he couldn't work out where he was supposed to be looking. Until they fell on Richie and then, slowly, his hand. 

A shaky hand reaching up to grasp Richie's wrist, rubbing a thumb across the paper thin skin over where his veins intersected. Richie close to rolling his eyes at the romantic gesture, till Eddie was pulling two of his fingers into his mouth and sucking them. 

Richie, of course, broke the silence, " _Eddie_. Fuck." 

Eddie did the eye rolling himself. Richie's gaze caught between his fingers in Eddie's mouth, where his cock was now fucking back into him and also where Eddie was touching himself again between their bellies. 

"Eddie, be nice." 

To which Eddie replied with lowering his eyelids and sucking hard. 

Really though, two could play at that game, and Richie was incredibly good at playing. Craning his head down to press a small kiss to the corner of Eddie's mouth that he could get to, 

"If you're gonna be dirty, Eds, that's fine. New you, I get it. Does the new you maybe want me to eat them out when I'm done?" 

Eddie seemed to agree with the sentiment. His thighs going tighter around him as his hand faltered between them, breath getting stuck one last time in his throat before he cried out once and came in between them. Richie's hand accidentally thrusting forward and Eddie's eyes watered as he choked down on them. Images of the first few times Eddie had sucked him off coming to the forefront of Richie's mind, and while he knew he probably shouldn't enjoy watching Eddie cough and gasp around anything...The reminder of the fact that Eddie was the only one that let him do that to him make his stomach lurch. 

“Fuck.” Richie gasped. 

Eddie’s legs falling loose about them, chest heaving as he gulped down breaths. Richie’s hips stuttering up against him as he came too. Hearing Eddie’s hushed little noise of discomfort as he pulled out, rolling onto his back and entwining their hands. Turning his head to the side, dark ringlets slick with sweat blocking his view of Eddie slightly, but still gazing through them at him. Grin spreading across his face at the sight of him sweaty and worn out. 

“So glad my dick is still that bomb.” 

Eddie snorted, “Shut up, you asshole.” 

“Hey, be nice to the guy who fucks you or he might stop.” 

“You’ll never stop now we’ve started.” 

There was a beat. 

“True.” Richie agreed, “Hey, so...Do you _want_ me to eat you out?” 

Eddie clucked his tongue against the palate of his mouth, 

“Yeah, okay. Go on then.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there u go, kings

Of course Eddie fussed wildly for days before their Halloween party. Worrying over food, and drinks, and decorations. Richie had taken his smaller, shaking hands into his larger, warm ones and kissed them ever so gently, 

“Dude. Calm your shit. It’s just us Losers coming anyway.”

Eddie had calmed by and by, lingering around the kitchen cupboards as he counted over the bottles of Diet Coke a couple more times; just to make sure they were all there and accounted for. It had made Richie go soft and he pressed up against the back of him, touching Eddie’s strong hips and marvelling at how much taller he was than him, 

“You’re cute, cute, cute, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that, Rich.”

He still turned and kissed Richie’s cheek nevertheless, smile slow and cozy. 

The party was as loud as Richie had expected it to be, maybe even more so, and he was absolutely fucking loving it. Everyone was raucous and laughing into each other over the smallest things, reverting back to how they were as teenagers making tears well in Richie’s eyes which he had quickly blinked away and squeezed at Eddie’s shoulder to ground himself. Plus he’d dabbed some eyeliner on to go with his costume of “sexy vampire” and he didn’t really want that to smudge.

Bill sipped at the glass of wine clutched in his hand, he’d come dressed as Jack Torrence, 

“You know man, I a-always thought that your house would be a l-l-lot more…Untidy, Rich.” 

Everyone giggled at that, throwing hands over their mouths and Richie went red around the cheeks, 

“I mean, before Eddie, it was kind of a pit.” He looked bashfully at Eddie, “It was a bachelor pad after all. But like, a bachelor pad crossed with a toxic waste dump. Eddie was so fucking mad at me when he was first here. He did a deep clean. Man. I hadn’t seen some corners of rooms for fucking years till he turned up.”

Eddie clucked his tongue, rolling his eyes,

“It’s not hard to pick up trash and dirty clothes, dipshit. Not my fault you were a fucking manchild before I came and sorted you out.”

Richie blew air of his mouth, waggling his eyes, 

“Love it when you do sort me out, Eds.”

“Ugh. Don’t embarrass me, asshole.” Eddie muttered, absolutely no malice or even really any embarrassment in his tone. 

Bev ruffled Eddie’s hair, clutching at his shoulder, looking surprisingly terrifying and definitely imposing as Morticia Addams (of course Ben was Gomez), 

“I think it’s rad. I kind of thought it was going to be...Well…” She looked a bit guilty all of a sudden, “A bit Bog of Eternal Stench-y in here.” 

Eddie looked semi-offended and Bev tried to defend herself, 

“Only because Rich was so gross as a teenager! I thought maybe it’d just always be stuck to him! Oh, Rich don’t look so mad, you were fucking nasty as a kid sometimes! I saw you pee on Stanley one time.”

Rich gasped, actually offended, 

“I HAD THE FLU, BEV. I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT I WAS DOING! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!”

The damage was done though. Everyone was in fits of laughter. 

Even Richie, eventually. 

They settled down a bit after that, lounging around on the couches and eating snacks and watching shitty Netflix horror movies. Once again all cuddled together, irritating each other to no end by flicking ears and kicking each other, and Richie was sure at one point he saw Mike lean down and bite at Bill’s neck. It didn’t look all that gentle. He hoped they wouldn’t fuck in his house, mostly because he knew Eddie had just changed the sheets in the spare rooms and he got a bit particular about not getting cum on them till at least the second night since they were clean.

Mike, hand carding through Bill’s greying hair, looking quite (oddly) handsome dressed as Freddie Kreuger; said suddenly,

“You know I’ve never seen any of your live shows, Rich.”

Richie glanced over at him, a mouthful of toffee popcorn in his mouth as a teenager was torn to pieces on the TV screen in front of them all, 

“Oh. Well, you’re not missing much. They’ve been fucking shit until recently.” He took a swig of his beer, hiccuping quietly into the back of his hand, “I don’t even know if any of my newer stuff will be floating around. It’s weird, people stopped recording me on their phones at shows now. They just sort of stare at me, with a wistful tear in their eye like...Wow….That gay boy truly made it.”

Bill snorted, 

“D-Don’t fucking say that you asshole. I s-sh-shouldn’t laugh at that.”

Ben piped up, sounding very drunk, 

“Why don’t we find some of your old stuff? On Youtube! Then we can all make fun of it together.”

Richie shrugged, not really caring one way or the other. He’d lived his old shows. He knew how terrible they were compared to his newer, more refined material. It was like watching someone entirely different repeat lines that were never his, and would never be his either. As if he was out of his body and being forced to watch someone wearing his skin deliver jokes about women and tits and cheating. It wasn’t painful anymore, but it wasn’t him. 

“Can do, man.”

Unfortunately, the show that Ben picked as Eddie’s laptop was casted onto the TV, was the Seattle show of 2010. 

2010 was a terrible year for Richie for many reasons, most of which he had repressed for a while with a lot of bourbon and dozens and dozens of lines of coke. 2011 had been a lot better and rehab had been utterly fucking phenomenal. But 2010 had stretched on and on and on, wearing away at Richie until he had snapped. And man had he snapped big and loud. 

His throat went tight as he, now sat with the love of his life in their house with their friends, was forced to watch himself on a 480p video, stumble around on stage and slur jokes that barely made any sense to the audience that was grumbling.

Nobody made a move to shut it off, which was worse. 

Everyone frozen stiff as the Richie on the video tumbled into a joke about masturbating to his girlfriend’s friend’s facebook account. A joke he managed to get out fully formed and without any slurs or stuttering, but as he finished off the joke a heckle came from the back of the audience. A heckle which Richie remembered not even hearing properly. He had been so blackout drunk that it hadn’t even registered to his coke and whiskey riddled, foolish brain; and he hadn’t heard it. Which was infinitely funnier to the audience than his jokes were that night.

He had been a sight. 

Looking bedraggled and ugly. Fucking ugly. 

Like a sick man wading around in treacle across the stage, attempting to hook himself onto any form of semblance that resembled a joke. 

Nothing had been any less funny than a drowning, repressed, stupid man on stage in front of all those people. 

And then he threw up. 

Richie had thrown up twice on stage before. 

Once during a school play of Romeo and Juliet where he was Mercutio, and a second time in Seattle in 2010. 

Ben gasped wetly, then it echoed into a pitched up version of his own laugh, 

“I...Uh...Well, I guess it makes sense why you’re the Trashmouth now, huh Rich?”

The room was quiet, just for a beat.

Then, Richie stood.

Bev, lightning fast, tried to do some damage control, 

“Ben, for God’s sake! Richie, he didn’t mean it like that.” 

The damage was done however.

“Fuck you Ben. Fuck you.” Was all he ground out before he was sloping off, out of the living room and towards the patio doors so he could escape into the garden. Truck following hotly on his heels as he went, snuffling and wondering where on God’s green earth was his human going at this time of night?

The others sat motionless, the Youtube video finished now. A quick cut of a man howling with laughter as Richie emptied his guts on the sandalwood flooring of the theatre he’d been performing at. Close to knocking over his stool with his water (vodka) on it. The end image was of Richie clutching his knees as the blur of the recorder’s hand set the image into a mass of swirling colours.

“I didn’t know…” Mike choked out. To which Bill kissed his forehead and patted his knee, still very drunk even after that sobering performance, 

“Stop. It’s f-fine.”

Ben looked like someone had walked across his grave, clutching his beer in his hands and staring dead eyed at the spot where Richie had just been sat,

“Shit.”

Richie hated to be known as a crier, which is why he never let anyone see him do it for the most part. He cried in the bathroom and in the shower sometimes. When he’d wake up, thinking of Georgie or Eddie or Stanley. Especially Stan. Because Stan had been his best friend. Of course Eddie was as well but, Stanley had been the only one to know about him. About what he was, and who he was. 

They had been fourteen and Richie, mouth dry as a desert, had said outright as they sat in the hideout after school one day; quickly as if to rip the metaphorical band-aid off in one smooth and sharp movement, 

“I think I have a crush on Eddie.”

Stan had nodded in that annoyingly knowing way he had about himself, flipped a page in his book and stared up at the boards above them, 

“Will you tell him?”

Richie had gulped,

“I’m...I don’t know. I’m afraid.”

Stan had fixed him with a look so sharp that it had almost made all the air in Richie’s lungs evacuate him, 

“You don’t need to be afraid forever, Rich. I still like you.”

Richie had cried that day for thirty minutes. Sat opposite Stan as he rubbed his bare knees, scuffed and covered in grass stains. Stan’s own knees prim and with a band-aid across the cap from where he’d scraped it across some bricking while they biked to school one day. He had smelled like the grownup deodorant he used and the warm, rich soil encapsulating them both.

“None of us would mind, Rich. We stick together. There’s nothing wrong with you just because you like boys.”

Because after all of it, it had been Stan who said those words first. 

Richie too afraid to speak them out loud, just in case someone heard and came after him with a vengeance and mean words. Or worse, the violence he’d seen grownups suffer. Although, he knew he could take the beatings and beratings of older boys in school who still picked on him despite the fact Bowers was gone now. But he never wanted to see the look of disappointment in Eddie’s eyes when he realised that Richie liked him. As more than a friend. He liked him so much it made his head spin.

“I like boys.” Richie had echoed, still crying. 

Stan smiled and shrugged a shoulder, like Richie was telling him tomorrow it was going to be breezy and slightly overcast. Or that tonight he’d be having chicken for dinner. It was just a fact.

As if it were something Stan already knew, deep down, and was just waiting for Richie to say it to him.

“It’s alright, Rich. I promise I won’t tell anyone you don’t want me to.”

The spit shake they’d done had cemented it. Stan’s eyes ghosting over Richie’s in a way that said, nothing would make me love you any less. And perhaps as well, I understand. 

“I’m not ashamed to be your friend, you know.” Stan said in a small but strong voice. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’d never be ashamed of you, Rich. We’re best pals, right?”

Richie wished, age forty one and weeping in his garden, that Stan was still around to be his best pal.

And even though he didn’t want to be, Richie Tozier was still a crier, through and through. 

Secretly. 

Sat in the back garden, angry and ashamed, eyes full of watery tears. Trailing down his cheeks and splatting into his lap as he stared out at the patches of land behind his house. Relatively quiet for a Halloween night, but that was the more residential parts of LA for you. Everyone was probably out at bars and clubs, not at home. Truck tucked between his ankles, butting his silly fat face into Richie’s legs and pawing at him to see what the fuss was about.

He scrubbed a hand across his face, end of his cigarette glowing in the cool night. He shuddered against the cold, suddenly aware of the fact his shitty costume wasn’t doing much to keep off the chill. He huffed, mostly at himself. He had been a moron a decade ago. And he had wanted that to desperately never meet the ears of eyes of his friends. 

“Hey.” 

Eddie’s voice trickled over him, his shoulders slumping in a calming movement involuntarily at the sound of it. He whisked his head round, vision swimming from the drinks and the slightly light headed feeling smoking nowadays gave him. He sniffed,

“Hi.”

Eddie, still in his Han Solo costume, settled on the garden seating next to Richie. A hand going out to pluck the cigarette out of Richie’s almost blue from the cold fingers, flicking it onto the ground and pressing the flat of his boot against it until the last few licks of embers were gone. He then linked their fingers together, allowing himself to now the cigarette was gone because Eddie hated whenever they appeared. 

“Ben’s sorry.”

Richie snorted, the sound irritated and prickly, 

“He’s got a big mouth sometimes.”

“So do you, Rich. Most of the time actually.”

“Fuck you.”

“Watch your mouth, Richie.” Eddie’s eyes glowed in the moonlight, menacingly. Not angry but verging on it, “Don’t be an asshole to me because a mistake was made. We weren’t to know.” He softened slightly at that, rubbing his thumb into Richie’s hand, voice hitching if you were to listen carefully, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I-”

“What? That I was the biggest dickhead to walk the planet a decade ago?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around back then.” Eddie finished. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

Richie shrugged, sniffled once more and then said quietly, 

“My life was shitty. I did shitty things to myself and I was a mess for...A long time. Just because I didn’t know how to belong and...and exist.” He pressed his face into the curve between his forefingers and his thumb, a strange sob retching out of him, “I had forgotten you, Eddie. I had forgotten you and I didn’t have anything even close to what I had always felt for you. It’s like you were never born to me. I didn’t fucking want to keep being myself, so much that I almost stopped.”

Eddie didn’t press to ask what that meant, he was too afraid of what he knew it did. 

He let Richie cry though. Much like when Richie had sobbed over the other comedians bit that was full of vitriol for him, and again Eddie just let him do it, rubbing his back and murmuring that it was all alright. 

When Richie quietened down he tugged his face so that their gazes were met, Eddie’s eyes steely and cool, not a single tear lining them but Richie knew if this maybe were any different; Eddie would have been weeping too. But he was being strong. Being braver. Richie had told him then, you’re braver than you think. He was right. Eddie could be so brave, for Richie.

“I’m here now, stupid. And you’re ruining the party. So come back inside and let Ben apologise, it’s like someone died back there and it’s killing the mood.”

Richie snuffled again, wiping the back of his hand across the underside of his nose, 

“I’m not that man anymore, you know that, right?”

Eddie looked at him as if he’d grown another head. 

“Richie, I know.”

As they shuffled back in, Truck dancing around their heels until he found his bed and slumped into it, the rest of the Losers eyes darted over to them. Ben looking guilt ridden and everyone else just looking very awkward and upset. 

Once Richie had made a joke, when they were about fifteen, that was incredibly distasteful in regards to Bev. It had been a total accident and Beverly had forgiven him almost immediately after he’d clapped his hands over his mouth and said sorry about as many times as years they’d been alive. But, the looks on everyone’s faces had paled him. Setting his teeth on edge.

It was the same now. 

They hadn’t liked what they’d heard.

Bill cleared his throat, leader of the pack of them speaking first, 

“Richie, we-”

Eddie cut him off, 

“It’s alright. He’s fine.” 

Although, he certainly didn’t look fine as he swayed next to Eddie, their hands clasped together and looking like naughty schoolboys bunking off. 

“Ben?” Eddie supplied.

“Mm.” Ben mumbled into the blankets surrounding him and Bev, “Richie...I’m real sorry, man.” He tugged the covers off of him, sending a bowl of M&Ms rolling everywhere and Richie laughed at that. A genuine laugh which almost cleared the tears from his eyes.

God. He felt like they really were kids again, after a fight. After the fight. Licking their wounds but returning to each other nevertheless. 

Ben sauntered over, hackles lowered and eyes exactly the same as when he was little. Richie did think he was very handsome. Always. Even when he was a chubby little thing with a silly haircut.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated himself as he threw his arms around Richie’s shoulders and crushed the life out him, which Richie quite enjoyed, perversely. It felt good to be snapped back to his living room, a proper apology brewing from Ben’s limbs into his own and he clasped the other man back. Squeezing him tight and tucking his face into the crook of his shoulder, murmuring hotly, 

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t talk to you like that, man...S’shitty.” 

Ben nodded. 

Apology accepted on both ends. 

They stood for another moment, holding each other until Eddie was prying Richie away gently and Ben was leading himself back into Bev’s arms, who kissed him on the mouth and smiled at Richie like nothing was ever wrong. 

“That’s why I liked you boys so much. You’re so good with each other, even when you’re being morons.” Bev touched Richie’s arm as he and Eddie came back into the fold of the couch area, “Sorry we made you look at yourself like that. I know it must’ve hurt and...Well, you’re soft, Rich.”

Rich sighed, forlorn, 

“Soft in the fucking head, maybe.”

“No.” Beverly said breezily, “Not at all. You’re a clever clogs, and we’re not ashamed of you.”

Richie laughed at that, the noise bubbly with tears being shed once again because, there he was again. Idling around them always even though he was dead and he couldn’t come back. He was never going to come back, not properly. 

But Stan was sat with them, Rich liked to imagine, conducting Bev this time to say the words he’d said all those years ago when Richie had been utterly terrified of losing his bestest friend just because of who he was. 

He rubbed at his face, smudging his eyeliner for good now, 

“Stan says hi, I think.”

The other Losers just nodded, probably feeling it too. 

“The Turtle works in funny ways, huh.” Mike said with an odd sort of worried tone to his voice.

Nobody questioned what he meant, only for the fact they deep down knew exactly what that was.

They decided to put on The Thing after that, everyone sleepy and Richie’s head pounding from crying until he took a couple of painkillers. Washed down with a glass of water, per Eddie’s request. No more alcohol for tonight. The film buzzing low in the background as Bill mumbled about practical effects and how Carpenter was a genius back in the day. 

“Stan always liked this one, didn’t he.” Eddie pitched in with, to lighten the mood perhaps, casting a glance at Richie who had his head cushioned on Bev’s lap. To which Richie nodded slowly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose where they had slipped down slightly from the angle he was lying, 

“Yeah, we watched it at Ben’s fifteenth, didn’t we.” He smiled, recalling the way Stan had shushed them and stared longingly at the characters, “I think Stanley had a crush on Kurt Russell, honestly.” 

The Losers were all silent until Bill said, 

“I mean...W-who didn’t.”

Everyone murmured in agreement.

As the dog split apart in the kennels, Bev’s eyes widened, 

“Oh, shit! I forgot!” And with that exclamation, Ben’s eyes also sprang open a couple more centimetres, 

“Beverly! Do not tell me that you seeing a bunch of gore made you think about that.” 

Bev rolled her eyes fondly and patted her hands on Richie’s side, 

“Guess what?”

Everyone groaned, they hated the Beverly Guess What Game. Because it was always something that had nothing to do with anything they were talking about in the last hour or so. She used to do it when they were teenagers. Her mouth suddenly popping open in a startled little look, her eyes widening as she grinned triumphantly at the knowledge she was about to annoy her boys to no end. 

“Bevvie, we’re too drunk, and old, and tired for this.” Mike whinged. 

“No. Go on. It’s a doozy.” Beverly replied, mouth curling tweely at the corners, “Go on. Go on. Go on.”

“Ben has decided to be fat again?” Richie asked.

“No.”

“You’re a-actually a lesbian?” Bill asked, hopefully (Richie wasn’t sure why).

“Close, but no.”

Ben frowned, “How is that close?”

Bev ignored him, “Come on, it’s not even a hard one!”

“Richie is actually straight and you’re running away together?” That was from a very worried looking Eddie. 

“No, you dumbasses.” Bev laughed at herself, eyes crinkling and teeth showing, 

“I’m pregnant!”

Richie was glad that his house was moderately well away from his neighbours because the noise that came from his living room was verging on a din. Absolutely cacophonous. All the Losers losing their proverbial shit as Bev sat, proud as muck of herself, in the centre of chaos. All the boys, except Ben of course who presumably knew what would happen if he did that to his fiancée, flapping their arms and trying to get at Beverly to kiss her first. 

“Slow down fellas. Geez.” Bev grinned, a still very drunk Richie bolstered against her belly, his hands flying up to cup her face and gaze at her with such force that she almost started crying as well. 

“Bevvie. Holy fucking shit. You made a whole baby...With that jackass?”

“Rich, I’m right here.” Ben chuckled, not sounding particularly annoyed, more proud. 

"I _knew_ there was a reason you only wanted Coke tonight!" Eddie bolstered.

When the noise levels had receded, Richie said very matter of factly, 

“You told me this summer that babies weren’t on the menu for a while. So what happened there, little missy? Ben forget to wrap it before he tapped it? Couldn’t contain himself on the pull out?”

Bev cackled, hair flying around her face from where she’d taken off her Morticia wig, 

“No, no. We just...We just decided it might be nice.” She went gooey all of a sudden, “I just looked at Ben and though, hey. I want you to be a dad. And I want to be a mom.” 

Richie and Eddie’s eyes met each other at exactly the same time. 

When the house was silent, everyone asleep on couches and the spare bed including the animals, all absolutely exhausted from everything that had happened that night; Eddie turned to Richie and shook his shoulder lightly. Watching as Richie’s eyes fluttered open, squinting at him in the dark and grumbling, 

“Jesus. What is it? I’m tired, man.”

Richie was always grumpy when tired. 

“Rich…”

“Yeah?” Voice slurred and sleepy.

“I don’t want to sound like some sort of dumbass here, so don’t you dare fucking make fun of me for asking this or I will leave you but...You’ve always known you weren’t straight? Right?”

Richie groaned, rolling onto his back and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbing. Obviously not really willing to have this conversation at, fuck, 4:27am. But he knew Eddie wouldn’t relent as easy as he might have, his eyes already set on him from his peripherals. That curious way Eddie’s brows would furrow when he was mad or desperate to weedle some sort of information out of Richie evident, even without Richie having to put his glasses on.

“Yes, Eddie. Well, I mean, probably not when I was like a toddler but...Man, why are you asking me this now? Why can’t you wake me up with something lighthearted and fun like, “Hey Rich, want some sloppy toppy?”.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose, not so much disgusted as embarrassed at how Richie could be, 

“I was just wondering. I can’t stop thinking about it and...No. You know what. It’s fine. Nevermind.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Richie rolled onto his side, propping himself up slightly and looking at Eddie with entirely unfocused eyes without his glasses on. Hair sticking up from where his head had been laid on the pillow, looking quite nonplussed with this questions when he could be asleep, “Don’t do that.”

“What! Don’t do what?”

“Act like I’m denying you something huge just because I’m not down to discuss how much of a homo I am at fuck o’clock. Eddie. I’ve known I was gay since I looked at you. Okay? I’ve known I was truly gay since I tried to whack one out to Bev to see what the fuss was about and it was the worst jerk off session I’ve ever had. Like. Ever. I’ve never had a crush on a girl or a woman, except maybe-”

“If you fucking make a ‘your mom’ joke right now I’m going to beat you to death.”

“Damn. Okay.”

Eddie seemed happy with that, head flopping back onto the pillow but he could feel Richie’s eyes on him and even with his partner’s shitty vision, the scrutiny had him shifting and feeling like he’d done something wrong by asking. 

“Go on. Ask whatever’s making you gawk at me like a dumbass.”

Richie’s face went red,

“It’s nothing! I just...You’ve never really talked to me about...You.”

“I talk about me all the time, Rich. I never fucking shut up about my problems.”

“No, I mean...I mean, I talk about how I’m gay like three times a day. I’m literally making a career out of it. You however, don’t. Like, it’s cool if you never want to label yourself or whatever but I just thought maybe you’d come out to me at some point considering I’m the dude whose dick goes up your a-”

“It’s hard, Rich.”

Richie didn’t move. Didn’t go to touch Eddie’s hand or anything, he just let Eddie continue,

“Even with Myra, I don’t really think either of us were particularly attracted to each other? It was a relationship of convenience. We needed each other, but I never really looked at my wife and had a crush, or whatever.” He shrugged, trying to brush it off casually, “I guess I’ve never really thought about it because I’ve never had a crush on anyone else either, even as a kid.”

Richie scoffed, 

“C’mon. Don’t bullshit.”

“No, Rich. Isn’t that depressing?”

“Surely you liked someone.”

Eddie looked at Rich in such a way that Richie felt like he’d just answered an incredibly easy question in class with something utterly ridiculous,

“God, you really are an idiot sometimes aren’t you. I only remember liking you. It’s not that I’m not...Gay. It’s just that I’ve kind of only wanted one dude my entire life, so I feel like I’m a bit of a useless gay guy. I mean, I totally wanted to bang Keanu in Bill and Ted but...For the most part, I just wanted you to kiss me.”

Eddie’s face was such a particular shade of pink that Richie would have loved to be able to document it somehow. 

“Jeez. Just me, Spaghetti?”

“Mhm.”

“Unsurprising. I was a stud as a tween. Those coke bottle glasses and early onset acne? Fuck man, total sex magnet. I must have ruined you for everyone else. Understable.”

Eddie snorted, vaguely amused by Richie like he usually was, 

“Surely you knew that I liked you though? I don’t remember being particular subtle with the fact I just wanted you to one day ask me out. All I’d do was squabble with you and get into your personal space.”

Richie’s answering look was oblivious enough that Eddie laughed and shuffled closer so he could rest his head on Richie’s chest, one of Richie’s hands coming up to stroke a thumb over the silvery sliver of a scar on Eddie’s cheek,

“Of course I didn’t know, Eddie. I was thirteen. You think teenage boys ever think with their brain and not their junk to be able come up with a coherent thought? Plus, I suppose I didn’t really want to accept the fact you might ever like me back. I didn’t want you to like me because then you’d be like me.”

“...Excuse me?”

“You were aware the whole town thought I was…dirty, right?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment,

“Well, maybe.”

“I didn’t want them to think that about you as well. I couldn’t have you being hurt like me because I’d got you. I didn’t want to be the reason for you to be treated the way I was”

Eddie’s body tensed up.

That was the sentiment when they were kids, he remembered that always. The way that people would talk about the older gay men in the media and even in the town itself. As if they were a cult, and they were out to snatch young, healthy men and turn them into monsters of disease and ruin. Luring boys and spinning them into lives that were unnatural. Immoral.

He remembered his mother looking him in the eyes one night after his bath, as they sat down to watch TV, her hair pulled back so tightly in curlers that the skin on her face looked like it didn’t belong to her. Her eyes boggling behind the glasses she wore, 

“Eddie-Bear, you promise me you won’t be like those dirty, nasty boys? You know that’d make me so sad. You don’t want Mommy to be upset like that, do you?”

“No, Mommy.”

Of course, at the time he had absolutely no idea what she meant by that. He thought, perhaps, she meant the boys who’d sprint around covered in grass stains and with bruised knees and soil beneath their fingernails. 

Boys like Richie.

But, why wouldn’t he want to be like Richie?

He’d shaken it off as his mother being an over reactive woman, as she usually was. 

“I’m not mad, Rich.”

Richie’s breathing hitched beneath Eddie’s ear, still pressed to the cavernous expanse of his chest, pulling a shuddering inhale from inside him.

“For what?” Richie wheezed.

“For protecting both of us from Derry. I know we both had our reasons for keeping quiet. I’m not stupid, I was alive in the 80s and 90s. I’m alive now. I know.”

Richie simply just grunted, as if he had nothing left in him to talk about growing up in one of the homphobia/murder capitals of the United States. His fingers danced over the scar on Eddie’s chest, caught between his pecs, the oddly silky patch of scar tissue soft against his fingertips. 

“Did you at least enjoy some of the time with your wife?”

Eddie had no idea why he said it, perhaps Richie was terrified that Eddie had spent his adult life in fear and pain; and maybe he had. But, that wasn’t all. 

“Yeah, of course. Sometimes. We were friends at one point.” He smiled, wistful of the times when him and Myra would spend time together and he’d actually feel something almost akin to happiness, “I used to call her Marty, as a stupid little nickname. She used to like that. It felt personal and...I suppose almost as if we were having a good time. It wasn’t all shit.”

“It wasn’t like us though, was it?”

“No, Rich. Nothing is like us.”

That seemingly satiated Richie, who sighed a gentle noise and squeezed Eddie so hard his ribs creaked inside him and he had to pry himself away slightly, 

“Dude, stop. Come on.”

“If Mike is allowed to crush his man, I am too.”

Eddie snuffled a suddenly sleep laugh into the crook of Richie’s neck. He smelled like rum, sweat and whatever body spray he used, it was nice. Heady. Made his eyes roll in his head as he closed them, feeling bold all of a sudden, 

“Are we really going to let Bev and Ben get all the couple milestones before us?”

“What does that mean?”

“Well...First they get engaged. Now she’s pregnant.”

“Eddie, if you’re trying to get me to ask you to marry you, it’s an awkward way of doing it.”

Eddie’s whole body flushed at the prospect of marriage, 

“No! Well, not no but...I just...I mean...I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted kids.”

Richie went stiff under him. Like rigor mortis had set in pre-mortem.

“Eds-”

“What? Rich, come on. We’re forty one. Maybe it’d be nice to think about some time.”

If Eddie had lifted his head up and looked at Rich, perhaps he would have seen a thin lining of wetness about his eyes. But he hadn’t. So he never knew. But he certainly heard Richie, in a strangely wobbly voice say, 

“Maybe one day. But not for...Not now. I can’t have…”

“Can’t have?” Eddie prompted.

“I can’t have a kid growing up like me. Not right now.”

“Oh.”

Which was the last thing either of them said that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perhaps i will return to this fic soon


End file.
